When one are two and shadows long to take the place of what belongs to you and me here in our home I must reflect on every moan and shudder in the dark and dreary silence of our moldy house. When every word means something else so that the lies and truths all melt into a sloppish, gooey mess, I cannot find what hope is left.
And all our yesterdays are yesterday, all burnt up in a day; there is no hope beyond the hope that I have only dreamed. But no, I know, the day has come to wake.
Tale Told 