The House

When your words have travelled through
Brought me down a peg or two, and still falling
Living here in my head
My imaginings
There’s no escaping
Now the garden’s overgrown
And the weeds have taken hold of the windows
Where no light now shines through
Still I’m outside looking in
Can’t help from wondering

Will there be no trace left of her
Won’t she be hiding in those walls of yours
Did the music leave the day we closed the doors

When they laid it stone by stone
Till there was something there to build upon
Above a resting ground
The rubble at your feet
Settles the dust we breathe
Rise up from your knees
And patch up every scratch, bruise and broken piece
Sowing of the seed
There’s no place here to grow
For the heart and soul

Will there be no trace left of her
Won’t she be hiding in those walls of yours
Did the music leave the day we closed the doors

There is nothing more…
But the black spot that won’t rub off
And the dampness in the walls they rot
On the fireplace resting photographs no more
And the peeling at the paper
On the surface is where it lingers
Now the house a shell that we once called home
Through the back streets
Where my heart beats and roams