River Valley Morning

The hazy morning sun comes in the window,
sneaking around the mill’s smoke,
and another overcast late summer day.
I contemplate the dust that floats
past the ghosts of leftover papermakers
in the bones of my worn old apartment.

In the bones of my worn old apartment,
The hazy morning sun comes in the window.
Past the ghosts of leftover papermakers,
sneaking around the mill’s smoke,
I contemplate the dust that floats,
and another overcast late summer day.

And another overcast late summer day
in the bones of my worn old apartment,
I contemplate the dust that floats.
The hazy morning sun comes in the window,
sneaking around the mill’s smoke,
Past the ghosts of leftover papermakers.

Past the ghosts of leftover papermakers,
and another overcast late summer day,
sneaking around the mill’s smoke,
in the bones of my worn old apartment,
the hazy morning sun comes in the window.
I contemplate the dust that floats.

I contemplate the dust that floats,
Past the ghosts of leftover papermakers.
The hazy morning sun comes in the window,
And another overcast late summer day,
in the bones of my worn old apartment,
sneaking around the mill’s smoke.

Sneaking around the mill’s smoke,
I contemplate the dust that floats,
in the bones of my worn old apartment.
Past the ghosts of leftover papermakers
and another overcast late summer day,
The hazy morning sun comes in the window.

Past the ghosts of leftover papermakers
and another overcast late summer day,
The hazy morning sun comes in the window.