One song for the people who'd left, one song for the people who'd been left behind.

One for the dead and the dying, one for the mourning, one for the grieving.

He stands in the middle of an empty stage, reciting from an empty book, eyes trained on the ceiling lights. He wouldn't come down. The tears wouldn't come down.

There always came a time when the dead wouldn't speak, and the living wouldn't stop trying.