James Mclain Poet Lyric

Your Body Can Live On Without the Soul

A Body—kept its Custom still—
Though Tenant fled the Room—
It rose at Dawn—performed the Will—
Yet carried not the Bloom—

The Eyes—retained their vacant Watch—
As Windows—shut to Light—
No Guest arrived—no inward Touch—
To animate the Sight—

The Heart—continued—faithful Drum—
Its Duty—to persist—
But beat upon a Hollow Home—
Where Spirit was not missed—

The Lips—rehearsed remembered Words—
By Habit—not by Fire—
As if some distant Echo stirred—
A long-forgot Desire—

O curious Fraud—this Living Form—
That mimics what has fled—
A Clock—still wound—defies the Storm—
Yet knows itself as Dead—

And who shall mark the Subtle Hour—
The Soul—untied its Thread?
No Thunder cleaves—no sudden Power—
Just Silence—thee Undead—

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