If these bare walls could singnThey would sing us a funeral songnPush their wooden words into your mouthnThey would not wish to benA burden to your tonguenWould not wish to carry onnToo longnnWith no sorrownAsk no greater pardonnThan the patternnTime is carving in your skinnnIf these pale bones could swaynThey would march to a funeral songnAnd pull their milky way across the yardnThey would not wish to keepnYou tethered to their armsnThey would not wish to carry on too farnnWith no sorrownAsk no greater pardonnThan the patternnTime is carving in your skinnnWell if I could stretch my earsnInto a grand processionnAnd circle ‘round your wisdomnLike a songnI would not wish to benThe fire in your bellynI would not wish fornHolding you too longnnWith no sorrownAsk no greater pardonnThan the patternnTime is carving in your skin