Fictional Funerals

There was a river
Or was it a mirror?
There was a fire
Or was it just a flame and me?
Too brave
For my own good

There was a chair
There was a carpet and my face pressed against
The coldest door
I tried to listen
I tried to scream

But nothing has moved me
Since the day I accused me and seven different faces
They all look the same as
The river I refused

There was a key
But it was not for keeping
There was a wall
Or was it the ceiling and my old graves
Not quite behind me

'Cause nothing has moved me
Since the day I accused me and seven different faces
They all look the same as
The river I refused

Without cause, without clues
And me
Too brave
For my own good