Nothing happens when you dienYou don't leave your body or fly off into the skynThe day it is you count on were just made up by some guynnNothing happens when I crynReminds me of the time I called you up to say goodbyenA pint of chicken soup comes falling from my eyennIt's the lens of isolation I declarenYour engineering knocks me out of my sharenIf mechanicals observe of what we arenThen number our days and point me to the carnnNothing happens by degreesnYour thought if summer-fall is hidden by the treesnMy great assessor always said you were a teasennNothing happens every yearnI scare a few more people off by saying 'dear'nWhat if it turned out my companionship is fearnnIt's the sentimental minute in your handsnFills your Januarys with my plansnThis is why we leave our ancestors alonenThen number our days and lead me to the car