The sun, is a white eye
In the sky, as it delves down,
It is bloodshot, with no clouds to blink.
When the sky is black with
Polka dots of stars in the sky, and
A crescent moon is formed, and hooked
Inside my ears, as wailing surfaced,
Shaking the stars, and thin walls, a youth
Insomniac, yelling lullabies.
The morning songs of birds are
Better, unlike the song from the rook, but the
Chorus was devoured by the infusing
Vocals singing, like a starving artist,