| <King Crimson> page <A Scarcity Of Miracles (A King Crimson ProjeKct)> album page |
This HouseThis houseThis house is empty now These rooms Echo with the ghosts of words These walls That no one could pull down Are crumbling and falling apart Windows framed in snowfall Summers without end Voices in the garden When the failing light descends Come to us all I read your letter Sundown What's the matter? All of that incessant chatter Silence Nothing ever seems to matter I don't understand what the rain means Sundown This house is empty now These rooms still echo This house This house |