The Still

Grey the sky that sits above
No sound of birds, but flight
They left this place so long ago
In the middle of the night
The glass it shakes the frame it cracks
While whistling a tune
Death has come beyond the shore
Thirty years too soon

Impatiently you turn the clouds
While patiently we wait
The angry sea becomes a wall
That carries all our fate
The still that comes will surely pass
Along with these old homes
Their roofs and tables thrown about
Along with everything we own

Scattered through the silent streets
The precious memories
Of those who wish to soon forget
What our cursed eyes have seen
We turn those eyes toward the sun
Where you sit upon your throne
And wonder if this mystery
Is something we can know