The Final Song
When the cemetery glow adds a brilliance to your glare I'm holding a toy owl from the Monroe County fair Local ghosts, the four of you were close I know The final song we sing will echo from below Echo from below Runic patterns in the snow on the old basketball court I lost one of my gloves as an offering of sorts Can it last? This metastasizing love The final song we sing will echo from above Echo from above |