It's this crushing tumbling despair; One that few words can describe. An ache, a pain; One that keeps me up at night as the walls curve in on me. It's where you want to sleep; long. You crave it. You tire relentlessly and yet there is no goal; No finish line. What a cruel joke where the punchline is unknown. How it's kiss is tempting; How I wonder. I must sleep eons now; For the demons have returned and with them the dark times. So thus I shall sleep in the dark, with my eyes open; Too tired to care but too afraid to close my eyes. When I awake maybe the world will be new. Maybe not so bleak. Maybe worse.

Yes
they sang of the stories told
of ages past and of men so bold
They sang for those who could not read
For the blind who could not see
The peasants tilled the land, and food produced
but for reading and learning had no use
And so it was left unto the singing bard
to tell of history from our past