Oslo Novelist - Grand Archives

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