Its always in this house
Where her small ivory hands have never been
And her blood red lips have never tasted
The floor sings sad songs as we walk
At such late hours in the night
Its the stairs and the purple curtain
That I think I’ll associate with the way things were
When it was just me I kept my gas tank full
So I could always leave at a moments notice
The highway has never sounded so quiet in my life
Drowned out in your whispers
But even a sinking ship can be repaired
*~W.C.