through the window the night stood still the paintings staired back makeing you cold the owls cryed out feasting on there mice feeling as though the world was emty and you were all alone ungratful sobs, sound through your mouth and tears trickel down you face reluctantly you sit in a corner attemting to challenge the winner of a never ending stairing contest all though he has never lost you were sure you would be there a while much like everyone you know the paintings see through you pass up your lies and sins even a painting can know you better than you do as you sit there you find that tears arn't enough they don't satisfiy your hunger they don't rock your boat and in the mist of what your sure to be a trumph your mind takes over brings you to a day dream where your tears satisfy you and no blood is ever shead but the sound of a owl finding its pray wakes you from your mind brings you to a pool of blood a contest lost and the familier champian on the wall