It seems heavy in the evenings.

Deep and quiet is the sound.

There’s hell to pay at midnight

In that thought-filled-fertile-ground.

You never were that honest.

When you had to much to think.

The abyss is deep and drifting

In those troubles at the brink.

The curtain calls have ended.

The applause has all but died.

It’s over and you’ve sang it all.

Those tears have all been cried.

‘They are painting in the corner. They say it’s time to shove. The colors not an option. The choice is die or love.

They are painting in the corner. Your time is bought and, sold. The devils in the details, when you’ve stolen all the gold.’