-the walls are mumbling again.
the syllables are different
but the words are always the same.

wondering, pliant fools
the ceiling tries to sleep
but it's all no use.

find me a rhythm.
find me real soon.

salvage the pieces
of my home-brewed
gloom, in my ears
haunting the depths of the halls.
forever a ghost,
an echo, a murmur in a scrawl.-