She enters searching for the essence of us
Left from before time existed and from miles of distance apart
Her messenger waits outside my door quietly and patiently
She always makes sure to wipe herself clear from my recollection
So she can sleep at night, as prose will prove correct

The dry frigid air sweeps across the fallen land
At the edge of town there’s a open field that I lay in to soothe my mind
I have a lot of chatter there in the silence of the bewitching hours

Sometimes good, sometimes not so good