Dreaming a Long-Dead Dream

I write this as a performer A puppetmaster's sad game An archetype that I can never shed The years are growing shorter With nothing left to fill them I've reached this mountaintop But it's too dark to see If I overdosed on twilight Would you be there to hold my hand? But of course, you've been dead for so long That these feelings aren't funny anymore The nights are growing longer My apathy grows stronger And the lights to light the night are too dim See this house of peat moss? I'm the one inside it. The roof is growing grass If I fought to keep this empty Why do I dream of it so full But again, you've been dead for too long So I shouldn't think about it anymore Nothing really changes Just comes with new context And a plot structure that's overall safer I still want to die frequently It's still the co-star's problem But it's nice to have my stress be safer If I could swallow all my pride I'd swap it out for some Prozac If you worked so hard to kill me, maybe I should learn to laugh at all of this If I knew that you were watching I'd still act like I was yours But you up and died astride me So who really gives a damn anymore?