I tread this in-between gray mire,
as a murder of ravens soars overhead.
I pass a crystal-like ice ditch,
as the sky glows an ominous red.

And now I see no animals in sight,
other than the telephone line birds,
preparing to leave for the night.

I tread in the pouring rain, train tracks.
As the preceding day faintly haunts my brain.
And the gently flickering street lamp,
in no way is it brighter, and a caring I cannot feign.

Комментарии