Persimmons

[Verse 1]
Walking into this dead house
The only sound was a cricket bowing
The windows blown out and crowing
On a crateful of wild junk was inside the silence's inward
Agasping feeling grasping the weight of the story alone
Seeing the paint chipping pealing bursting something appealing to a thirst I have known
The decayed presidence of eclipses of meteor showers
Of ellipses mercy for a theatre of ghosts
Screaming larger in a seeded harbor
Like scattered notches in a door jam
Oil pencils under the crown holding [?] the coast with the cut
Where the rose bush erupts
The interior erodes and the bedroom's now a garden
With the hallways a cats' walk
The living room's a back porch
And the grey lines hanging grace as the sun stages [?]
An inch of dust around it's sunken frame
Where the once drunken prayed
Leading a man's life into a woman's eyes
All hardship buried and gone buried alive (buried alive)
No legacy carrying on was it all left behind (left behind)
And what's the difference between dead and dying and abandoned (abandoned)

[Refrain]
Absence is a place I go to study myself
Absence is a place I chose to discover

[Verse 2]
The absence of my grandmothers
From [?] to aurora
To [?] of rice fields to tabaco heels to wild cotton
Never enhanced just some fading pictures
And the newspapers are still melting into the floor
With the blood falls like lude and the reeds tangled and nest on the shore
The whistle is the wind ghost the song of the South
It's always just been the sound of ghosts
But I remember the shade under the persimmon tree
I remember the taste, that raw puckering
Seven [?]
The smell of salt water
The papper mill
That high dead sulfur
From warehouses
But the factory was a bomb
And our televisions were fathers
And any scrap of corn was mamma
When the termites took the house
The beavers took the swamp
The lumber river
And the voice (the voice)
The persimmons are for the living (The persimmons are for the living)
The persimmons are for the living