From Dusk til Dawn,
waiting for the ghosts to leave,
and the sun to rise again,
I ache for morning.

Sitting in the Dusk,
nervous of the dark closing in.
Will I make it to the light?
Or wither like a starved flower?

Sitting in the Dusk, I realize
there's no point in patience.
The Dawn can never lift
the darkness clouding my mind.

Sitting in the Dawn,
I patiently waited for the Dusk to leave;
yet it never did, and I realize
I'm so tired.