Neither the music nor the drinks, no sleep no food nothing. Transparent shadows all over an empty house an empty body with no more blood no more blood no wine no bread no miracle just tears inside teared apart inside outside no sun no snow no light no darkness nothing helps. No phone calls no letters no words any more. One of the shadows is a silence another one is a killer. It is dressed up like a clock it is hiding in the closet laughing while waiting while aging while counting its beats. Nothing helps, but you could. She said.