Story At Three
Again and again they blend into one,
my father the morning pushes through moonlight love.
So whats sleep? Sleep.
Im tired, so tired, but it seems that theres someone here with me.
We are the wakeful, wry, watchful.
Were awaiting.
Deathless ones.
A story at three with the shrillest of cries.
My mind fights with the sparkles in the corner of my eyes.
I hear the morning choir sing to me their elegy.
So beautiful.
They sing to me their elegy. Requiem.
