Even as the night burns on
And I long to find meaning
In this fleeting sanctuary
I find not a thing profound
In this blur of finality
I know not what I need
Only what I cannot grasp
Another day of this clarity
Prior to the coming haze
Of the editor's floor
The end of this clarity nears
And I only pray sleep will come
To shield me from this hell
I have once more birthed
From this angel's snow.
I have always known my folly
In this venture of escapism
Yet I anticipate the inevitable
Another passage to this station
Of timeless antiquity.
