Dingy rooms conceal him alone.

And with the intricate dents of his fists,

His home had lost its looming charm

And he stopped and stayed as he considered this



Teeming with chipped walls and water stains

Aging floors and dirty windows,

This room had caught its last black year

Tangled memories and nightmares control him.



This won't help, not really, not at all



His many schemes tear the times apart

Happy times that were lost in arguments

And manipulating screams don't

Forsake him quite so well anymore

And he feels the scenery consume him



This won't help, not really, not at all



April rains and May sun aged this house

And each dent reminds him of them

And each dent reminds him of you

Each empty space only allows so much

Misery