The cracks on the ceiling
Washed clean by the rain
Turn green as they stretch to the walls
Droplets blur as they fall to the floor
To disappear down the hall
Outside, the clouds shift constantly
As if not sure what to say
They flow
And they break
And they slip away
But they never look back on today
Well, there's not much left
But a pale grey sky
That melts
And drips
And fades...
Into nothing
c 1998 Wade Summerlin
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From the album
"Sounds From the Gathering"
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