Days are dark again,
Strange how the sunlight filters in,
The room illuminated,
As the shadows tighten around my soul.

Sometimes I think I'll win,
Just once I'll shoot the arrow straight,
The feathers split Against a rod,
In a stack of hay all covered in paint.

One day I'll see you again,
I'll hold your hand against my cheeks,
Your soft beard against my ears,
With whispers of forever as I drift off to sleep.