They call a certain part of the night,
When the darkest ink lays before dawn,
The Witching Hour.
And in every corner of this room,
I hear echoes of my whispers to you.
Phantom limbs intertwine,
As if it were November
And like clockwork,
You'd hush my words
With sad lips
Knowing I'd be left here in June.
And when I feel the weight of your chest
Heaving with lavender,
Just know I'm still strong
In this Bewitching Hour.