I remember when these halls sang tails,

But now leave entrails of sand across its floor.

The dust piles to the ceiling

And the doors are left open to show the aftermath of forgetting,

I remember when the walls hung sails and great old fables for its guests to adore.

And the core is broken, not to be repaired.

This is no home, not even a house. Just a relic of despair.

I heard the skeleton of wood sing a solem tune of fairwell;

“Forget me not for here I am,

Forget me not under this sand.

I live below these loft banks,

I reep nothing of what man takes.

Flicker the light and rip up the floor boards,

Break the windows and cut all the phone cords.

Break me until I am useless like I am.

I now know nothing, do nothing like you can.

I feel no pain, not any longer.

Im atrociously no sight to ponder.

Feel no remorse for my hollow bones,

But try to remember when I was a home.”