You see the world in present tense Every day, every sound, every noise or melody And the fresh white noise buzzes awash in your ears but you do not grieve There is no right time for requiem nor would you know if there was Follow the rabbit, memories of measures down the folds of your mind Fleeting notes disappearing by the time you catch up Some distant dirge deteriorates in the depths, there Something familiar but unknown from where Perhaps birdsong, perhaps another, but the synapse does not fire Beats escape and progressions retrograde Life sings in a way you cannot follow.