The night is dark
and the day seemed
to have blurred behind me

As I slither and fight my way
through every night of restless work
and a buried regret from a love
I let slip through my fingers
again

While a dozen
and a half brushstrokes
echoes around
All protruding one image
Until she comes around again
I lie and wait
for the sun to set
three hundred
and sixty five times

The night is dark
darker than usual