Number Our Days

Nothing happens when you die
You don’t leave your body or fly off into the sky
The deities you count on were just made up by some guy
Nothing happens when I cry
Reminds me of the time I called you up to say goodbye
A pint of chicken soup comes falling from my eye
It’s a winsome isolation I declare
Your engineering knocks me out of my chair
If mechanicals observed are what we are
Then number our days and point me to the car
Nothing happens by degrees
Your furtive semaphore is hidden by the trees
My predecessor always said you were a tease
Nothing happens every year
I scare a few more people off by saying 'dear'
What is it about my companionship you fear?
Every sentimental minute in your hands
Fills your Januaries with my plans
This is why we leave our ancestors alone
So number our days and lead me to the stone