She that lay it on the old wooden floor.
To sounds that use to be but our no more.
No life lives here.
No one is no more.
One arm outreach trying to dig down.
The sound is deafening, the sound is no more.
He that lays beneath does not hear that scratching sound.
He is and you are no more.
I am trying to reach out to the bones above the floor.
But she cannot hear me.
This lady is no more.
I am parallel to both.
But I see the dancing clown.
And he can have no more.