Oslo Novelist

Silence drawing a crowd Surely you would have known Never could have read it aloud Woven webs cover the walls Wine stains on the floor Of the Oslo novelist now Come tomorrow this will all be gone Finally nothing to say More empty words on the page Pour a glass all the ribbons are dry Raise a toast for the novelist tonight Sun down fell, starting to wake Tragedy at a time Getting later earlier every day Words in lines and I Can't decide, how to make this end any other way Come tomorrow this will all be gone Finally nothing to say More empty words on the page Pour a glass all the ribbons are dry Raise a toast for the novelist tonight Come tomorrow this will all be gone