When you were young you died.
When you were old you died again.
Our song memorial calls up tears.
They water a flower.

Our song memorial,
Comes from a box.
The box is painted by thought.
Inside, a white cloth,
Stained with soot.

Our song memorial,
Cannot bleach out the black,
But can help you see beneath.
Our song memorial,
Gives you knew eyes,
With old wrinkles.

Well, would you look at that, another poem with no phrasing or rhymes. XD