Wounds weep, there's no balm.
Your tears fall louder than pain's calm.
Afraid? No, just worried.
Anxious, anxious—
Ekneirbrucnaowdey—
thoughts slipping, tripping, fading to gray,
Where even the stars despair to find their way.

One, two, three—the stars fall,
Amidst the golden light's sinking stall.
Void, empty, it is,
With no sun to guide which planet to which.