You did not wish to wake
Upon the empty, blank pages of the book, I wrote my name
With shaking hand the pen glided across the ancient parchment
The ink merely sunk inside and disappeared. . .
I read what he had to say
I knew he was directing it at me
Chills and goosebumps continue to embellish me
Number 3. . .
Oh, Number 3
You are so cruel
We have waited for your relieving actions
But none we have gotten
But your cold silence
Your sinking, cold silence. . .
I can't speak, Paul
I can't speak