The season passes with the cool wind of autumn, the smell feels like her pretty head resting upon him. Orange and brown falling all around, summer is a bitter pill. Beads of sweat welcome the chill. Silent and empty is the house on the hill.

A place to call home cant fill an empty heart for the night wont let me touch the brightest star. Time is just what passes by the window, like footprints on the freshly layed snow that sometimes appear to have nowhere to go.

Silence is the sound of wishing and hoping...hoping that all we had wasnt still broken. Silent and empty is my heart until...silent and empty is the house on the hill.

White turns brown and then white again, promise of a new beginning whithers to an end. The house looks so far away now but there are times when looking in I can see myself looking out. The memory is nothing more than a dim light in my mind flickering in the cool wind like the chance that she will once again be mine.

Silent and empty is my heart until...silent and empty is the house on the hill.