There is nothing but a shout 
Grasping and gaping for the shrill 
Though it tends to be the one foot out 

The House shivers and doubts 
Motor is running yet still, 
There is nothing but a shout 

Why is it that we make a route 
To resume the sunken search of will 
Though it tends to be one the foot out 

And the impudent, overbearing crowd 
For them a hollow play until,  
There is nothing but a shout 

So then, the wild look to scout 
Aiming and aiming to fulfill 
Though it tends to be the one foot out 

Though there is silence throughout 
In the House, a loud souvenir  
There is nothing but a shout 
Though it tends to be the one foot out