Morning sunshine mourns of an old age
A past time that lurks in the shadows
of his bewildered heart, trapped in a cage
The light sets upon the empty bottles
Darkening the depths of his gaunt less rage
Dripping through the window ceil,
the light glows upon the purple sage
The dust casts the lining of her
As his tears bleed along the page
The past rebuilds itself as if it were
Yesterday