the days have gotten shorter now and he can barely see
and when the sun has disappeared he'll let it buried be
he never fights the moon at all and feels its push and pull
and when he falls asleep tonight he'll ask to be its fool  
in slumber do the shadows often rearrange again
but when he has his eyes awake he'll walk away from them
his feet will not be rooted in the elements exposed
for he has found a hiding place for memories to go  
his thoughts will be the sermon he may never cease to tell
*"I'm not afraid to die," he said, "I bid you all farewell"