So small and gray inside their case They look alike now. I suppose Death makes most creatures commonplace. These portraits here of the unknown Are hung three high, frame piled on frame. Each potent soul who craved renown, Immortalized without a name. Here are the shelves of unread books, Millions of pages turning brown.
Visitors wander through the stacks, But no one ever takes one down.
I wish I were a better guide. There's so much more that you should see. Rows of bottles with nothing inside. Displays of locks which have no key. I wish you could.