Dark days come along,
When the air blows feathered knives.
They stab the flesh of wanderers,
Who pass through uniform lives.

Walking in calamity, the same route
Each melancholy night.
The cold air dances like feathers
Yet their lives do not take flight.

For on these nefarious nights,
Corruption bleeds down.
Stains the sheets of gloomy virtue,
Gives the night his crown.

The smell of solemn occasion,
The pinch of frozen sky,
The midnight shades of insomnia,
The wind that whispers "Why?"