My mind is full.
I cannot sing
To the silent shapes
That haunt me
Anymore.
The night,
That once shun brightly,
Is once again
Its ordinary morbidity of darkness.
"What is that?"
I ask
When it whispers.
"Why is that?"
I ask
When it screams.
...
It seems now,
As if it were many lifetimes ago,
That I stood staring,
Alone and petrified,
Amongst the shadows
Of their heavy breath.
However,
I know now
That it was just a game all along.
They were tricking me,
And I foolishly played along.
...
I wonder now,
In the brightness of the day of course,
How such a time back then
Has become a time like now.
I cannot sing
To the silent shapes
That haunt me
Anymore.
The night,
That once shun brightly,
Is once again
Its ordinary morbidity of darkness.
"What is that?"
I ask
When it whispers.
"Why is that?"
I ask
When it screams.
...
It seems now,
As if it were many lifetimes ago,
That I stood staring,
Alone and petrified,
Amongst the shadows
Of their heavy breath.
However,
I know now
That it was just a game all along.
They were tricking me,
And I foolishly played along.
...
I wonder now,
In the brightness of the day of course,
How such a time back then
Has become a time like now.
[/CENTER]