Clapboard's got gray on gray boards 'at curl up around the nails
in rust red. They look like somebody bled on the floor an'
ever' drop ate inta the wood a little ways.

Clapboard walls shows the light an' cardboard winders you can't
see through are all the same damn gray.

Ever' time the stairs get clum there's thought of fallin' through.
Through to gray spikes of weeds that grow inna shade and nests
of things I don't wanna think about. I don't know fer sure
whut's unner them stairs an' I don't want ta know.

I can't sleep at night 'cause of the way the gray screeches at me
alla time. It's like somebody in another room was draggin'
fingernails onna chalkboard just to piss you off.

Fuckin' wallpaper is always wet an' always alive with
shit-eatin' bugs. It had some color once but now it's just
gray like the rest. I rolled up all the rugs 'cause of the
stink. Damn things were gray unnerneath just like on top
--fuckin' floor was gray ever' where the rug touched.

I sleep unner rusted tin that makes a haint's voice outta a
windstorm. Even that's a sound 'at's got no color. An' even in
my sleep there's no color 'cept the gray.

Wheatfield, cornfield, milo, an' clover even when its bloomin' all
looks gray to me. I 'member when my brother 'n' me used to
kick back and think on just how green 'n' gold the world was.
We don't never talk about that much no more. . . the words
just got kinda gray after while. I don't talk to nobody much
and they leave me purty much alone.

I guess time just kinda washes the color outta the man and the
words an' even outta the world 'til you're just a damned ol'
rundown clapboard like you live in.

Only thing that ain't gray is the rabbits when I shoot 'em. Reckon
I can't go shootin' rabbits just to see the color.