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what late forgotten nights to emptiness has given and now november morning will be taken asunder the shovel stained with dirt in the hours of belonging dug into the undiscovered of a life, a pest, a plague falling back into the arms - no never admitting to a life alone - no claiming there are sparks inside - no outside looking back - no so the lie never stopped cling to the wave it cried and onward to the night expecting not and nothing in the presence of a lie the deeper that it dug the more now had to go surrender was a fact and the room was decoreated - the lie never stopped what late forgotten nights to emptiness has given the strangers may they come in ignorance's disguise so into the dark walking to leave the last of times kneedeep in desperation to fill the gap behind boldly thread the night forever november thought are right - oh never taken from the fall - no frightened by the key but the trail behind the house felt compelling and new - the lie never stopped found at loss for words, now words aren't enough someone told, a vacancy was open someone laughed, the silence here was broken dug up to make room the room which you furnaced and graced there is no vacancy the least can fill the fountain the most will flood the mold |