A treacherous path to walk
Cluttered with abandoned branches and lazy rock
Too careless or too heavy to escape our slow approach
They lead us to the shabby old gazebo

Two creaky steps and a look around reveals
A misplaced picnic table and a couple scattered, forgotten tools
Leaves too soft to crush beneath our feet, too alive
For us to kill, they sprinkle the neglected floor of the shabby old gazebo

Peeling white fades to forgiving gray
The naked trees whisper in time with your promises
While a chill breeze tries to whisk them away
Exposed through the glassless windows of the shabby old gazebo

Hide ourselves behind the churned cream walls
Breathe in the scarred and knotted wood
That has seen too many damp nights
Splinters try to snag our skin in the shabby old gazebo

We wrap ourselves up in the blanket to protect us from it all
Held in a cotton cacoon, trapping the warmth off our skin
The cold hard floor beneath our legs remains the only thing to remind us
We are on the grounds of a shabby old gazebo

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