A dead party is crashing through the floor

In the middle of a church is the darkness

Prying open a door

In the wilderness of town

A girl is plunging headfirst through the window

Though she said

She didn't want to

On the way down

Listen to the sound, crying in the meadow

Singing in an empty room

In his bedroom his mother makes a bed

Under the table where the secrets were

The drugs are still hid

The pictures before the war

Where he was then peacefully waiting

Before the bullet

Killed the man

Stashed inside a drawer

Listen to the sounds, crying in the meadow

Coming from an empty room

A room enters a man full of whispers

Consumed by the quiet stairs down the hall

A weary listener

Can't just fall asleep

But in the darkened rooms of Mom and Mr. Who

Her body

Is half undressed

And very calm

I hear many sounds, crying in the meadow

Coming from the empty rooms

A street is flashing the legs of a whore

In the corner behind the steps, the cameraman sits

Warming up the corpse

Amidst the foggy breath

Two eyes are open wide in a frozen rattle

Where the battle

Between love and death

Seems to loom.

The only sounds, there crying in the meadow

Are from an empty room.