Where The Hollow People Sleep

The shovel hides beneath the unmade bed in which we lay.

Steel springs do fill the well-worn form of love left on replay.

And she walked the silent streets, where The Hollow People sleep.

The timely shovel only rusting more and more each day.

Hey! Hey! Hey!

Hey! Hey! Hey!

Hey! Hey! Hey!

An angel glides along suburban plains and rests her eyes on I.

An angel; always black —

A jewel one can't pass by.

Pain could not define the fullness of this sorrow.

Love is cruel, the mind is fickle, the heart in weight.

But cruel you are not. Cruel you are not.

With hands that give and ask for naught.

This breath, her words - the humble sort.

Hands that give and ask for naught.

This breath, her words - the humble sort.

Hey! Hey! Hey!

Hey! Hey! Hey!

Hey! Hey! Hey!

And as I lay down in our bed, the shovel by my side,

She is buried in the dirt;

Covered by the truth of love,

The pain of love,

The hurt.

And I love her.