I've all but quit sleeping;
I'm walking dead.
This is the secret I've been keeping:
I'm sick in the head.
I wander scorched earth; dark hills -
I'm restless; graceless.
I see barren land the farmer tills,
And his children starving; faceless.
It's a lonely night, this one -
The darkness does oppress.
Silence here before the sun
Leaves me too much time to obsess.
An oily sheen covers me; I'm drowning in black.
I asphyxiate quietly - there's no going back.
