A house with holes Where windows should be Diffusing beams of Light; No fight Is nearly over No whistles through the roof A house with holes Where windows should be Diffusing beams of Light; No fight Is nearly over No whistles through the roof Laments and smoke Where stonewalls should be Lowering the odds I resile again Closing the doors Every fear has filled The Air; and it has outsmelted The burned Whole town is made of Agony; for what is to come Every breath Inside is Silent; but the panes are all Smudged Whole town is made of Cinders; and the rain Cuts the thread Laments and smoke Where stonewalls should be Empty jars Before they are shattered Every fear has filled The Air; and it has outsmelted The burned Whole town is made of Agony; for what is to come Every breath Inside is Silent; but the panes are all Smudged Whole town is made of Cinders; and the rain Cuts the thread