A part of me died last night-
Swallowed by deep shadows,
A Prestidigitator's Rite-
Conjures  woeful wet tomorrows.

Oh,

Little Black Death, a part of me;
How my soul it now does borrow,
Still
I'm not what I wanted to be
All I've become's known sorrow.

Now its over, No more feeling,
Nothing left - to believe in

Youth without youth, 70's child,
No longer 'them' but 'us'
Disguised in a cipher's hidden truth
how inconspicuous.