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    Empty is the sky before the sun wakes up.
    Empty is the eyes of animals in cages.
    Empty, faces of women mourning
    When everything's been taken from them.
    Me, don't ask me about empty.

    Empty is a string of dirty days
    Held together by some rain.
    And the cold winds drumming at the trees again.
    Empty is the color of the fear
    Long about September when the days
    Go marching in a line toward November.
    Empty is the hour before sleep chills you every night
    And pushes you to take me away from every kind of light.
    Empty is me.
    Empty is me.

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