Night

There are things in the night that you don’t know,
Things in the night you don’t want to see.
Things in the night you don’t want to be with,
Things in the night you don’t want to feel.

There’s a river that bled,
There’s a nightingale that sings a solitary tune, of the sad, the cold, the dead.
There’s a fire that ran dry,
There’s a white corpse on the top shelf of the blue-black sky.

When the night takes over our plains and our fields,
There’ an eerie calmness that makes even the dogs heel.
A black infinity over a vast expanse,
Like a blanket pulled over to warm cold hands.

There are gremlins and goblins that lurk in the dark,
Looking for food and journeys to embark.
There’s a bat that squeals, a cricket that screams,
This and that, and many more from your dreams.

At the first touch of the sun’s golden ray,
All the miracles of the night seem to fade.
They take nothing with them as they bid adieu,
They only add magic to the day anew.

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