This House

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

Sundown

I read your letter

What's the matter?

All of that incessant chatter

Silence

Nothing ever seems to matter

I don't understand what the rain means

Sundown

Sundown

This house is empty now

These rooms still echo

This house

This house

This house