| [00:32.57] |
Silence drawing the crowd |
| [00:38.09] |
Surely you would have known |
| [00:42.24] |
Never could have read it aloud |
| [00:47.93] |
Woven webs cover the walls |
| [00:53.41] |
Wine stains on the floor |
| [00:57.02] |
Of the Oslo novelist now |
| [01:02.31] |
Come tomorrow this will all be gone |
| [01:10.83] |
Finally nothing to say |
| [01:18.37] |
More empty words on the page |
| [01:30.09] |
Pour a glass all the ribbons are dry |
| [01:33.46] |
Raise a toast for the novelist tonight |
| [02:03.99] |
Sun down fell, starting to wake |
| [02:09.59] |
Tragedy at a time |
| [02:13.81] |
Getting later and later every day |
| [02:19.37] |
Words in lines, alight |
| [02:24.34] |
Can't decide, how to make this end any other way |
| [02:33.66] |
Come tomorrow this will all be gone |
| [02:42.52] |
Finally nothing to say |
| [02:49.84] |
More empty words on the page |
| [03:01.36] |
Pour a glass all the ribbons are dry |
| [03:04.88] |
Raise a toast for the novelist tonight |
| [03:15.70] |
Come tomorrow this will all be gone |
| [03:22.10] |
|
