by Alison Jenkins

Genre: Folk/Acoustic


Now we wait
’til night is quickening, thickening all around
See the gate
just a few short steps over open ground
Silent walls
The living wind whispers of dead things
Bird calls
Long-gone voices in the notes they sing
And we’re inside now
The damp could chill you to the bone
And you once at how
a few hundred souls could have called this home
A bed, a chair, a strap hangs beckoning
take a photograph, a record, a reckoning
Can you stay to taste the dreams of the mad
Run away, back to the same life you always had
Full moon
A lock swings where it’s been broken
So soon
you’ll come back for some small token

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