The churches are all empty, their windows boarded up
Where ruthless men huddle and drink from poisoned cups.
A lonely wind invades the space that rests between the cars
And picks up all the withered leaves as it travels to the stars.
The snow didn’t fall this year, nor any year that I recall
Winter didn’t seem the same without the writing on the wall.
And self-made men with hearts of iron and words that taste like lead
Were arrested for unspoken crimes by disciples in their beds.
The streets cry out for comfort as you turn your shoulder to the sky
Darkness slithers past your door, ’round the pillow where you lie
And if I could touch your cool red heart, I might just leave the band
But all roads lead away from here, no matter where we stand.
The snow didn’t fall this year, nor any year that I recall
Winter didn’t seem the same without the writing on the wall
Meanwhile I was waiting calmly at the bottom of a well
Collecting coins that lovers dropped, wondering what the wind would tell
I raised my hands up to the stars, wondering what deceives
A gust of wind shook my bones and filled my hands with leaves.
blackmarksonawhitepage 