Mornings are when
The voice is gone
Speaking through the ether
To the other
Like a rasping curse
Tearing away the stars
And leaving the eastern skies
Blood red and empty
A series of stolen moments
Drifting into the air
And away…
Mornings are when
The voice is gone
Speaking through the ether
To the other
Like a rasping curse
Tearing away the stars
And leaving the eastern skies
Blood red and empty
A series of stolen moments
Drifting into the air
And away…