So he is dead as flounder as a flattened cat

Float-eyed and finned-like silent he rounded out my window into nothing

Oh the sound

Oh the holy cries singing organ chords knotted into nothing

So we are fringed in holy

Vacant patient silence fills the church with hardly nothing

Oh the thrill of mourn

Oh the tongue-tie touch of hollow fugue-states tangling grief into nothing

Oh the touch

Oh the hook the book of lust

Oh the dust of silence

Oh the backstop of his coffin dark-draped in the sound of nothing

So he is silent and misses nothing