Shadows cling to peeling walls
As sickly light shines through the dark.
Faded glory rides on vain remarks
And are echoed by voices down the halls.
The stilled air rings of phantom calls
To times long gone, but pause and hark
To tales of the chamber so painfully stark
Until the senses surrender when the night falls.
These moments may very well be our last
And to cherish is better than to grieve.
When we are lost in what was before,
Trapped in desire for what has passed,
And immerse ourselves in make-believe
Then we are left as nothing more.
