Silence buys a lot these days,
Since our girls were overrun,
By time and its dead horses
In your mirkwood field of dreams –
With a little boy and the little death,
Talking to holes in the ground,
Footfalls that never makes a sound.

Driven under the fallen night,
Here for the echo of her crime,
No part of me wants to survive,
The silence of yesterdays lies –
But its giving up that kills me,
For love’s supply of violent ends,
I hope my running out offends.