Pictureless frames on aging walls,
a floor that's crying for a sweep.
Wooden boxes, stained and small.
Empty pockets, wide and deep.
Heavenly sounds of singing sparrows,
coming through the courtyard door.
Corridors so long and narrow,
walking feet, thread no more.
That staircase that you couldn't trust,
stands defeated by the years.
This musty place has seen it all,
the joyful smiles, the tragic tears.
How sad to see it now like this,
the first place that we ever kissed.
Its sad, the things that we dismiss,
those days, those days
I'll always miss.