A castle made of smoke and ash
that squashes the cloud and makes it rain
a black and gray that falls
when clean snow was meant to come.
The floors are ash
and the walls are ash
and the windows are blackened with smoke.
There was a lady in white
she's now an old crone in tattered gray rags
who stares through the floor
because the window's aren't worth cleaning anymore.
Her hair hangs o'er the drawbridge
and down cloud
and sometimes it shakes
and you can see the white like electricity
even through the gray.