Under the dead leaves they lie.
Measuring the sights of the land.
Sitting, waiting and welting.
Constantly drumming their shaking hands.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
Grabbing sticks and melting tragedies by drowning down.
We wonder, we wait, we sigh.
Looking for a reason to move.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
Pressing up thoughts of the grey chain.
Mimicking the great sorrow.
Embracing a new companion in vein.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
They lie and lie and lie.