This house
This house is empty now
These rooms
Echo with the ghosts of words
These walls
That no one could pull down
Are crumbling and falling apart
Windows framed in snowfall
Summers without end
Voices in the garden
When the failing light descends
Come to us all
I read your letter
Sundown
What's the matter?
All of that incessant chatter
Silence
Nothing ever seems to matter
I don't understand what the rain means
Sundown
This house is empty now
These rooms still echo
This house
This house