As the waning sun rises,
The darkness creeps in.
Gathering the wings from the soul,
Smothering the love with foul dirt.

The stench of the mornings dew,
Reminds the heart of imminent hell.
If only the grave would be so kind,
As to smother the dying flame.

Dreams begging for the reality,
The reality of a name left for all time.
Written in stone for all to see.
Left for the birds to perch upon.

Dreams of sleep so sweet.
A dream without the agony of love.
Fairytales dying at the shovels tip.
As the last teardrop falls.

Falter not oh dark shadow,
For your friendship I have accepted.
Let your robe protect my soul,
From the tyranny of love.