Oh, to be immortalized in stone.
I will be forgotten, and yet I will never change.
I will always be as I am, and not as I have become,
For I have become only stone, stone and bone.

And these desolate skeletons that chant my name,
I’m beginning to forget what to say to them.
I’m beginning to lose the magic words that make them still.
Instead, I am beginning to speak the tongue of the dead,
And they have nothing to say but that I am one of them,
In the end.
Nothing but a name on a rock in a field of doppelgangers.
A sea, if you will, of people who spoke this language.
Faces on paper never have to close their eyes just to see.

Oh, this rocky Neverland,
These ghosts become my solemn Peter Pan.
They grasp my hand with cold, disgusting fingers,
And do I want them to let go?
“Come away with me,
and you’ll never have to worry about grown-up things ever again.”