Another Brick In The Wall

Moonshine

The wind softly shrieks to be let in for the night,
But the cold steals all feeling from your shriveling limbs,
The wood briefly speaks for mercy from God,
Inside of the forgotten house on the lake.

The moon cogently brings life to the water,
But the waves still try to rip themselves from the depths,
The trees gratingly sing callous cawings and cries,
All which is gated by great, looming mountains.

The man painfully steals another swig from his bottle,
As he lays under the window in the dusty, dark attic,
His pain achingly feels as if it’s being ignored,
And doesn’t even bother to return anymore.

The house incessantly groans as the sky comes in closer,
And the moon’s heartless stare barrels down like mortar fire.
The wind endlessly moans like an unattended child,
Who had to face the truth many years too soon.

The moon solemnly peaks through the grimy old window,
To see a man sprawled out like a doll on the floor,
The liquor damningly leaks from the mouth of the bottle,
As death lies motionless in a flood of moonshine.