Beneath the tall clock that no longer keeps time, A bunny of rough cloth and deliberate seams Sits upright and proper, as if waiting for crime That never arrives, only softens and dreams. His button eyes hold what the years have erased— A polite little ruin no one else has faced. Chorus Stitch by stitch the silence grows, Thread by thread the old regret. Nothing ever comes or goes, Only what he can’t forget. He rearranges the dust on the mantel each dawn, Straightens the curtain that no wind will move. The hallway remembers the footsteps long gone, And the carpet still keeps every soft, heavy groove. A single grey button rolls under the chair— He leaves it there, knowing it won’t go elsewhere. Chorus Stitch by stitch the silence grows, Thread by thread the old regret. Nothing ever comes or goes, Only what he can’t forget. (Middle Eight) There was a time when the light was not thin, When the smile was not stitched and the world still let in The sound of a name and the warmth of a hand. Now the hours move sideways across the same sand. He carries the weight of a life never spoken— A quiet disaster, carefully broken. In the last of the light that the window still keeps, He sits with his paws folded neat on his knees. The house settles deeper into its own vows, And the shadows grow longer by careful degrees. No ending arrives and no mercy descends— Just the soft, endless knowledge that nothing amends. Chorus Stitch by stitch the silence grows, Thread by thread the old regret. Nothing ever comes or goes, Only what he can’t forget. (Spoken) "His button eyes hold what the years have erased— A polite little ruin no one else has faced." -- poor guy!
