Silent hills,
Over desolate meadows;
A place we one called home.

The fires gone,
The wind has faded;
That old well stands, so alone.

The setting sun glows,
Gold ricocheted;
But not the gold we sought.

That sweet rain is done,
Its drip has halted;
Its country song has become undone.

There were songs we once knew,
Bliss we once kissed;
Glory we once held tight.

The ice has thinned now,
Water ruined by the snow;
The skate marks have long faded.
A mother no more,
A father no more;
The laughter in the rooms has withered.

The city lights are so cold,
Viewable from this distance;
From this new place we call home.