He stops by on his way to work, staring intently as his face softens
She pauses during her busy day to draw the faces with her finger
Her little fingers barely reach over the counter but she manages to look at it
Dust and fingerprints start to build up, blocking my view
I saw less and less of their faces as the winds of time blew
My frame started to splinter, dust weighed me down
The glass was broken and my exposed parts faded away like a ghost town
Then I was thrown in a box, they never came to visit me
No longer atop the shelf that used to be a tree
All my pride was gone, fizzled out
I’m not needed, no reason to shout
I’ll just sit here until I fade completely
A silent melancholy death