Nothing
Nothing in the field.
From my broken window view.
Nothing in my old brick house; no love for me and you.
There's nothing in my arms
but dirty paper plates.
And nothing in the look on your cold and distant face.
And the summer grass when the children rest
and the flowers I recall meant nothing at all.
Nothing in the way I tend to spend my nights.
And nothing in my words can help to make it right.
There's nothing left for me but the haunting memory
of a time when I had nothing and you gave it all to me.
Nothing in the record room.
Nothing in an empty town.
Nothing that i'll leave you but the keys to everything
For they no longer unlock anything.