The eyes of day drinking the night
The moon as a sun
Waning joy in the warmest July
The cries of no one

The hand of day draining the night
The moon acting red
Waning clouds, crows that can’t fly
The man in the bed

How long must we stare at the clocks to lengthen our time?
How livid must we try to be to soften our crimes?

The veins of day defended the night
The maddening streets
Galavant boys gather to buy
The pains from bed sheets

The bones of day deepened the night
The mad and their speech
Given to garner an eye’s early buy
The throne of the leech

How well must we mark our path to forget the day?
How lonely must we try to be to believe what we say?

The ears of day demanded the night
The stagnant drifter
Venting smoke and violent sighs
The doubtful thinker

The heart of day deluded the night
The stagnant as one
Must it take such a colour to save the sky
From the forever sun?

How well must you fight to survive alone?
How many tries do you have for the perfect headstone?