Wardrobe

Villager: Maple

And you thought, oh, but death must be cold,
and death must be lonely and silent and hard.

And you thought, oh, that when you would be old,
that it would take you whole and then rip you apart.

And you thought, oh, that the silence would hurt,
that the quiet would press on your stiff, frozen lungs.

And you were so certain that it would be sad
you knew it would be crushing and lonely and dark.

And you thought,
you thought

But you see, now, that death's not that cold
That death's not that quiet and not lonely at all

you see, now, that it's warm and it's soft and then

nothing

at

all

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