If you come back
next spring with the wind and the rain
storming my castles
with armies of ghosts
seep through the walls
and laugh at such silver bullets

I'll rush from the dungeons
which I thought my throne
and turn the cannons against
stone walls

If you come back
next spring with the rain.

I tear down the stories
only to watch the wind blow you away.

And I'm left standing
(once again)
without a ceiling
exposed to the sky

This is if
you come back.