Attic Slats

Tied upon the slats of the roof, An old noose awaits for you

Whiles others point and call out lies, you see through to the truth

Through the splinters of the wood, and the shattered parts of glass

Not one speck of attic is clean, no one cared enough to clean, so the moss just grew

And grow did it do, throughout all of your troubled youth

And this time when you place your hand upon the knob of brass

You vow this will be the last time this noose sees you


Through the dark, and through the dreary

When not one soul offers to be so kind-as to help you out

You climb the ladders to the top, to the place where no one goes, the only place that feels like home

While others of your kind might have grown weary

Long ago you sought out to clean up the grout

You later realized it to be futile as it would just continue along the walls and roam

All throughout this time “why try?” Is the only thing you have to query


In the days of old, “be you!” Is what you were told

But the second you figure “you” out they scream at you telling you to get out

So you run as far as you can, stay far away from harm's way

But where you have run to is not what you are used to, in fact it is cold, far too cold

All because of them all you can feel deep down is doubt

Nothing said can cause their opinions to stray

But the world is getting slippery and loosening upon it is your hold


So you laugh it off, and call it a joke

Put on a mask of silly laughs and smiles

Let them believe you are who they want

Upon your shoulders hiding your wounds, a heavy, heavy cloak

It is hard walking with this cloak for miles and miles

Maybe you never noticed before but for you the attic will continue to taunt

But the noose hanging from the attic slats finally becomes so tight you begin to choke


Tied upon the slats of the roof, An old noose no longer awaits for you

Whiles others pointed and called out lies, you saw through to the truth

Through the splinters of the wood, and the shattered parts of glass

Not one speck of attic is clean, no one no one cared enough to clean, so the moss just grew

And grow did it do, throughout all of your troubled youth

And the last time your hand was upon the knob of brass

You knew this would be last time anyone but this noose saw you