There is dark inside.
For happiness has lied.
But, take it's leave,
while hopes concede,
with time, of us to bide.

Such is of its place.
With life and flesh debase.
Make light of none,
with parting sun,
the desperate to erase.

So go with key in hand.
And heart inside a tomb.
To steel away, from hearth and past,

in past no longer stay.

With listlessness​,
to find a match.

To claim,
and, make away.

To make a hope,
the common tongue,
we speak of everyday.