Last night it was dark out
Blackness dotted by bright streetlights, put there to protect my innocence.
I heard the birds chirping their morning-song that is usually heard at my grandparent's house, early in the morning.
But it was three-thirty a..m., and not at all sunny.
It confused me.
When I was returning home, I once again heard the birds.
It was seven-thirty at night, and not at all sunny.
It confused me.
I always believed these were morning birds, singing their morning-song to my grandparents.
I guess they're constants.