Silence drawing the crowd
Surely you would have known
Never could write it alone
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
Hold 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 and later every day
Words in lines collide
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
Hold a glass all the ribbons are dry
Raise a toast for the novelist tonight