And I remember Fred
- In the dying of the night -
because he's dead.

A girl walks past with small steps, beloved,
With starlight
Reflected in her eyes, and I remember Fred;

I remember how he had often fled -
no shining armour for this reclusive knight,
And I wonder if I see him in this way only because he's dead.

The laugh lines lie around my eyes; my face looks like crumpled lead
because warped window-corner fragmented shatter-sight
is not conducive for self-reflection, and I remember Fred.

The rain stills to a light drizzle and up ahead
I see him standing in the greyish pre-dawn light.
Except he isn't any more; because he's dead.

Turning over in my bed
I see a shadow and scream in fright,
And I remember Fred;
because he's dead.