This is the sound of decline

This is the fall of the western world
It unraveled in dollars and cents and crumbled upon busy street corners
Until it descended into dust and dirty oil reservoirs
Now the stop lights won't functions and synchronized patterns
This is the day I missed you by a crack in the sidewalk where only blades of grass
Managed to push through the broken cement slabs
And I lost you when you were taken long ago and it's true you're not coming back
I wonder where your bones are buried and whether weeds or flowers mark where they lie
You're the closest thing to someone dying I've had in recent times
This is the swan song of the last five years
It is catalogued in a messy box of photographs stashed between bookends
And are later looked upon in dim light and background music
Neither floating above a whisper
This is what I remember, my cellar door opened and it sounded like a horse neighing and
The closing of my window echoed a muddled reply
I feel the house was asking me not to leave
The lilacs outside my window repeated the same thing in rain drops
Each is not without its arguments; each will not win their war of sedated noise
These are the moments of deja vous
Except the coloring and timing is slightly different from the first time
But it feels just as authentic and the pictures are just as blurry
This is the fall of the civilized world
These are the decaying ruins of past days
This is the time that must not be forgotten
This is the thing I leave to the dreamers