My sickness, My cure

If I’m a problem, will you be my solution?
If my lungs are clear, will you be the pollution
That slowly creeps inside?

If I am drowning, will you be the wave?
And when I die, will you be the grave?
I’ll be lowered into your arms.

And if I turn to stone before the night has gone,
Will you be the artist that sculpts me out of bronze?
I will be your beautiful masterpiece.

When I turn to ashes, and I'm carried in the wind to a place of tides and Zen,
Will you make me one more promise, to carry till the end?
Please tell me that I will see you again.