Looking out for black and white dark days,
Then, blackout days.
One thousand voices are smiling in my ways.
So they say they speak in tongues.
But all I feel is the weight on my lungs.
Now Morrow is on the way,
And all I fall to say is sleepy hollow is my verge today.
Hearing voices, trekking my mind.
They don’t hide.
Even now, in the darkest of times.
Though
Poe is no foe,
Tis some, only this and nothing to show.
Scarcely sure I heard you, though,
I opened the door to find darkness and nothing falling short of allure.
Hoping for the melancholy burden bore of nevermore.
