When my pulse stops, what will the obituary say, another footnote, another root beneath the tree (and as the days turn to months and the months turn to years, will these hours and minutes add up to something worth documenting, will the textbooks carry my name?)
Or will this quill just break, before we sign, our names on the parchment in time, your word is mine
Tell me Im the love, tell me Im the laughter, tell me Im the look, the look youre always after I mightve wrote a will, instead I wrote a sonnet, for you to sing along, well be timeless
Breathe