At this misty morning scene,
Traces of winter were seen:
The trees were embraced by mist,
A lovely sight I had missed,
Adorned with dew were the leaves,
Seeing how the morning leaves.

In my time of dying
Remember, I was always trying
To do better, to be better
To love, be loved
To gleam my dreams
And be someone who matters
To the world, to you.
Not sure when it all shattered
And life became a jarring mess
But now I couldn’t care less
I did what I could
I’ve played my feud
And now It’s my time of dying
Just remember, I was always trying

Through the hollows, into the grey
Across the rolling hills of pain
Run all night till the darkest day.



When shadows behind the mists play
Charge forward to the silent rain
Through the hollows, into the grey.



As our memories fade away
But the signs in the sky remain
Run all night till the darkest day.



As the leaves in the forest sway
Doubt the trees and keep on running
Through the hollows, into the grey.




When the road breaks along the way
As the shadows come forth crawling
Run all night till the darkest day.



When the time comes for us to play
As they come to where we're hiding
Through the hollows, into the grey
Run all night till the darkest day.

We are the fingers of fog
That grasp the hilltop and
Pull the fog eyes up to see
If the sleeping valley below
Needs a blanket.

We are the mist that clings to her stream
Long after other mists have
Retreated to safety.
The mist that forsakes herself,


We are the October late-day light
That deepens the blue
And livens the green
And crowns Crimson
Your fleeting, quick-fading queen.
To distract you from thoughts
Of the cold colorlessness to come.


We are the grainy gray shadows at dusk
That camouflage the vulnerable
And vex the predator
So that the small
May scurry homeward.


We are the soft illusion
Of a bright twinkling cloud glimpse
Of the shy Milky Way
That pulls down the astral children’s shade
And hides the rage of the stars,
Indulging snug earthbound mortals
To dream their snug earthbound dreams
Under the proctor of Venus and Mars.

We are the saving grace
Between you and reality,
The light hand
Upon your shoulder
That keeps you from
Going over the edge.

Deep inside the wrinkles
of the Blue Mountains
Cold air sits upon
the primitives' throne

Inky echoes stroll the alleys
No living essence have ever
trespassed these halls

Sun's breathe becomes pale
as it touches the gloomy
foothills and crests  

Merely sprites wearing
mantles made of mist
dwell this mountainous region

Even rain seldom visits
to pierce the ghastly silence

Amidst the fog
forgotten tokens may hide
In riddles of old and
astral vague light

Through the mists I see
A hidden valley shrouded
In cold chilly air
A mystic place of beauty
A beautiful sight to see

Beautiful, sweeping, seeping mist
  Don't weep for me your gentle tears
  But kiss the trees as only you can
Before their youthful leaves turn Gold
  To be plucked or pulled down by the wind
Bewitch the spell till summer comes
  And turn the Falls' head with drizzlin'
As you clasp bare limbs in paleing hands
  Would you kiss the trees as only you can?

Detached;
My strings have detached
Like the vowels and constants I speak detached.
I watch the world
Through eyes not of mine
And live in a body
Living a life that doesn’t feel mine.
My chest feels empty
And my tone sounds vacant.
I am floating
Further from conscious
With no one to ground me
Everything seems not to be mine
To feel to touch
No matter how much I try.
For it merely feels like mist
Through which I pass my hand through.