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