Green leaves on a dead tree is our epitaphgreen leaves, dear reader, on a dead tree.
(Cyril Connolly (1903-1974), British critic. "The Journal of Cyril Connolly 1928-1937," published in David Pryce-Jones, Journal and Memoir (1983).
Pryce-Jones chose these words for his book's epigraph.)
You left me in the darkness, you left me all alone, why did you, you said you were alright, you said you wouldn't leave, but that fateful night you did. why because you left with out a whisper, you left without a word. not even saying anything to the world. good bye dear heart because here comes the darkness