The Whitewash

 You are dying, as the composition in my head crescendoes. My being feels empty already. Will you come back as an immortal melody; sprightly?

What do we owe ourselves and our souls that we dwell in nether regions?

--------------

It  is this, I know:

1 2 3 4
   2 3 4 5 6
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
   2 3 4
   2 3 4
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

1 2 3
1 2 3
   2 3 4
            5 6
   2 3 4
         5 6 7 8
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

And the epilogue reads "a serene bench."