I call myself a Professional Sleeper
Because I was convinced I could sleep through
any type of sadness or any type of confusion.

I was convinced I could sleep after
any argument or any type of disaster.

Yet, for the past two nights I have weapt myself to sleep
as my brain swells against my skull and makes my thoughts feel like cymbols in a marching band

I was convinced I would be able to sleep off even the worst of times
and that would be how I coped

But once you try to sleep when your heart is breaking, and your head is screaming, and your eyes are too sore to shut,

It's impossible
I promise you.

The General rarely stood still
Sworn to be unloved

The Geshia the artist to all
Sworn to be unloved

One loyal to one
One loyal to all

When the armor and mask fell
They swore to always love

At dawn she left with her mask
And the General weapt in his armor

Forever unloved forever loved

Amen
Fib said but Young let tomorrow be thy day the sheep I'll keep my promise to feed em just like father said today is your day we will weap together the beastest blood was still drying Young knew that Fib would not be able to feed the shee the next day they weapt into the night Young heard a sound he remembered that but from no other one place his dreams it was the sound of fire he was dreaming

Young & Fib

There is music that will play on,
when we are gone.

When we have slept,
And when we have weapt,
moving away
to a another day.

The music will still play
on for it's own
And for no one,

As when we are gone,
The stars won't be done,
They blink
They shine like a golden ink,

They will never leave,
They'll dance,
And we'll greave
And leave.

Just as we have always done,
And they will never do.