The morning rises like a warning Dancing through my groggy eyes; With furrowed brows he soon regards My phantom form, bemused surprise. Why seems this fool awake To catch his timid light? A vigil stance to celebrate The passing of the night.
The hours charm fluorescent halls And walls without a single star; No taste of fog or icy air Could deign to breach the basement bar. And in these halls I dwell Confused by Man's embrace, Till finally I shift my head To catch a dawning face.
But in the hour of silent waking Madness yields to stony peace; The trials of night are set aside, A moment stilled, a calm release; The gentle warmth consoles; For though the deed is done, The child of night, he reconciles His life before his Sun.
Send bushels of beatings in WillShipley's direction for for this.
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