Withering Heights

the flowerless vines wrap themselves against the white concrete
all around, summer is ending

summer is dying... dying... dying

autumn, welcoming winter
the song to lost hopes

but summer this time was different
the changes made were unhappy
the birds sang, the tune hollow, empty, haunting

but the old house at the side
must be wondering
whats wrong with change?
what IS change?

summer is dying, dying, drying
autumn is coming, coming, coming
winter is near, near, near
spring is far behind time, time

cause time is eternity

the red and gold leaves rush up
to meet the air
to your feet they fly
they land near you

leaves have life, they have death

dishonestly, shamefully
you stare at the sunset
something is wrong with the colour of the sky
the sun can't set probably
his daughter Earth is dying

the old house lay in the corner of Withering Heights
it saw what was happening in the distance
a sound it had never heard before

the sound of human activity
and with one last look from father sun
the fog rose up into the air