Going, going, gone

Dust begin to settle on the wooden floor, on the open pages.

Ivy begins to grow, trying to get in through the open windows.

Whether or not we remembered to clean it up, the little house will begin to fade.

Fading into the rest of the forest, no one knows where.

Into the ground it goes, a monument to history, of fine conduct and nobility.

It's going, going, gone.

Dust specks fall slowly on the window sill, cloaking the dark wood's color.

Ivy's white flowers drop to the floor, drooping over empty forgetfulness.

Weather, storms, rain, it begins to wash the little house away as it fades.

Into the ground it goes, a monument to history, of fine conduct and nobility.

It's going, going, gone.

Our memory is short, we forget, no excuses, it's a fact.

Every earthly thing fades slowly into dust, just to settle on the floor,

Remembering the important things, that is what remembering is for.

Rain batters the locked windows, melting the walls away, ivy enjoys the water,

it grows stronger.

Into the ground the house goes, a monument to a breath of time, dust specks.

It's going, going, gone.

Going, going, gone.

Going, going, gone.

Going, going,

Gone.