I remember a dark and weary night, slowly losing sight—
A sense of lost—an absence, if you must.
Forevermore I slowly waste away—Sort of like rust.
As I slept the night away—A nightmare awaits me.

The darkness tonight is curious and awfully strange—
The starlight that lights the way—Guides the wise men astray.
No fear or hesitation stops the day.
forevermore, the fear overwhelms me—
Like a vicious stray dog ready to attack.

I slowly begin to fade away—Again!
Into a deep sleep or call it a somber.
I am dreaming—Of death and bombers.
Forevermore I awake—it's already another day.
Like it never happened— Again I wander.

The day is loud, and full wandering wonders—of a child.
Excitement throughout— the valley of death.
A war! Another fret? Another death! The children are dying!—Innocents.
Mothers are crying— for the death of the younger one—
Now nightmares are appearing.

BOOM! BANG!!—The loud bangs.
A deadly bang that rings throughout the land.
Awake— reality seeping through these veins—
As if they were chains digging in the fragile skin.
Fevermore—do only nightmares wander?

Those wandering wonders are dead.
Lead to the valley of death—Where the unsaid is said.
Nevermore shall there be wandering wonders.


~Shania

Out my window—the leaves are bountiful like a song.
Here I catch myself singing along.
There and there they pull me in—A dance.
But here I am—Stuck In.

Out my window— I watch them fall.
The leaves are not happy—Not happy at all.
Why must you fall down?
—They fall and they fall.

Out my window—I see and I’ve seen it all.
Where have you been and what have you seen?
I ask myself this— something's amiss.
My place in this.

Out my window—I stare and I stare.
Is there nothing to this?—To this Staring.

Love is a flower that seems to have this sort of sour.
A sort of dull, but sweetness that lingers.
Here I am dancing with the singers.
You bloom as the music is in you.

Then you fall as the music turn to blues—Are you a moon?
Are you swayed by the night as it passes with the swiftness light?
As you spin around—Am I not the fool that is spinning in you?
Am I not—Am I not—Enough!

Love is a flower that grows and grows.
It grows so much it hurts.
It hurts so much—It’s love! Is love supposed to hurt?

Your rosey vine with many sharp thorns—
I must be careful of those who are torn—
They sway and they sway— I  will not be swayed away.
I will not—And I will not—love like a flower.

A dream is the night creeping on little cat feet.
Slipping away into the shadows.
Preying on the broken-winged bird attempting to fly away.
Waking up from a deep sleep only to be caught again.

~Shania