Ashes in the dark,
Fingers torn in sworn feelings stark.
Harke the burns, grey little bird.
The words too silent to speak.
Fatigued,
Intrigue lost to tedium dawned,
Too tired to sleep...
Too mired to swan in papers won by aching ears.
Arears built by weary, fading tears,
Born in fears of tomorrow,
Reared by minds sheered in line of witness anguis't mark.
Hark the flames, grey little bird,
and sleep away tomorrow.