And here's a thoughtnA secret thingnFate that this old house can singnnUnderneath the weight of godnStanding for the will of mennnYou'll come for dinnernListen goodnSongs for all that lived in it nThe years it stoodnnAnd here's a bunch nAn empty fixnMemories will not existnnOnly in the room upstairs nWhere she slept and slept some morennIn ending rafters, the patient woodnA goal still hiding, had seen so many,nGo before in the years it stoodnnEngine flamenWill take you awaynWhere is away?nnIt's waveringnYou're waveringnnA gift is givennRepeated nownnThe passive torture of smoke and woodnIt brings a perfect linger nThe years it stood