At the dead of the night...
That's when I hear what everything
has to say, what's near an what's far
I hear it all then I hear the silence
As neighbors always either argue or make love,
the creaking of the wooden floors
the water running in the pipes in the dark,
it seems like even the walls are
shifting around me in discomfort,
An voices mounting in an endless cycle
of small complaints,
or the repetition of prayers,
even the silent moans to loud screams
But now I just listen to myself
along with the twisting of the sheets
That remember all the faces i could not save
an the faces I couldn't bring myself to love.
