the night dies in the mourning skies
the night, enchanted by the music, stays
long after the dawn of worries
has yawned back the smarting tears,
the stars snow flurries
jiggle, lamplit, as a beacon for all
who are lost, cold, out there as well,
while we dwell, in all innocence,
on the death of hope to ever tell
of better dawns,
of dreams come true. so
sleep tight my child,
it’s alright,
I will care for you;
as the day that mourns
the coming of the night,
will sing aloud of
a thousand feathered dawns.
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