From worn out sheets and pillow dreams sleep can never hold the dreamer. For even now the Sun has yet to rise at four in the morning . the town halls. Clock still shrouded by the absence of light , and the rain like pellets brought only a soreness to my eyes ,
yet brought a youthful. exuberance to my legs not felt in months . For what was once dawn at five in the morn has still to rise in August. And Wicked. Schemes of medieval dreams of a tyrant King for a loaf of bread a monk and a toad and a goblet of gold could ever keep this ball of fire from rising . No more than '. Twenty shillings for a loaf of bread for what was once half a penny . a monk drank to his death of the **** drained from the skin of a toad for many. andKing would die , but not from its poison . How Tudor halls when evening falls bolt their doors from it . It hides the light which once shone bright , and pray the sun will rise . As evil waits outside its gates only theifs and drunkards Persue . A preachers bench where a dead weight is clenched , Gods word from man has no where to hide as preachers. On Sunday mornings tell , Food for the lost at what great cost every soul that listens well . So as evening shadows draw near . and cold winds , and darker skies. can only beckon . And evening shadows fall , and TV takeaway awaits , a light from church's may yet be ready To. Welcome the weary traveller home .