I would like to wish
you good night.
Tuck you into bed.
Give you a smile.
A gentle kiss on
your forehead.
Watch you fall asleep.
May your dreams
be sweet.
Last words tonight.
Until next time we meet.

I'm doing the things that make me feel alive.
But you're clipping my wings.
Killing me inside.

And if I can't take to the skies.
I'll take to the seas
Where i'm free as i was.
With my head in the clouds.

As I stare out my window,
I come to realize
That I'm quite sick of hate
I write, I cry
And I hate, hate, hate
That I am sick of hating hate.

Don't worry about little old me
Don't worry about me
Don't worry if I cry
Don't worry if I dream.
~
Don't worry if the sun rises
Don't worry if it falls
Don't worry about little old me
Don't worry about me.
~
Don't worry if I'll make it
Don't worry if I don't
Don't worry about little old me
Don't worry about me.
~
I worry if you'll ever stop
I'll worry if you do
Because little old me,
Worries about you.

I saw your eyes rain today,
What started as a slight drizzle
Turned into a heavy pour.

I arise to start my day
     yawning and yearning to stay in bed.
The sun has yet to shed his light and
     so by the moons fading glow,
          I gaze out my window at the misty meadow...smokey and grey.

My mood does change more sour as
      I feel the damp cold darkness tug at my soul.
For I know things come running from out of the mist
     the things that come a running never miss...

I shudder then shower and dress... ready for the day.
     I head for the door, once again feeling the chill of the mist,
          even as the sun starts up his burning fire...

As I head down my drive I can barely see the sun
     but I notice the mist is starting to burn
          and I hear the call of the cat tails from within the swampy marsh.
I begin to calm my fears but I can still feel the chill
     and shudder yet again...
Then from the gloom I hear the mist scream out as the sun's
     warm rays start to penetrate it's smokey gloom.

I almost reach the bend in the road on my drive;
     then my phone begins to ring
           I fumble for it and look away...
From the edge of nowhere...it was lurking...lingering
    waiting...running came the misty moan
          I hear it but its too late...there is no sun here.

For I know things come running from out of the mist
     and the things that come a running never miss...
I'm shuddering and cold and know I too am one
                 that disappeared in the marsh... below the meadow
                                   with the misty moan...

                                                                          JLCL (c)