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