Time is dead.
All the minutes of the day have shed their final cares and in these fading seconds, with the moon glaring, watching down on me, I recognize another farce of life. Looking for the truth, I sneer at the others around me, not ignoring he who stares back, blindly in the reflection of the pool of disillusionment. Midnight is the hour of truth, yet, where does one look? The air is filled with lies and deception. My neighbor beside me not only turns away when I call, but in the cloak of night, steals away with my heart. I cry for a glance into a soul of light, perhaps a kindred spirit. But such an aspiration need by forever unfulfilled, for how does one achieve it? Everyone hides their souls deep in an early tomb, never to shine for another, until late on their deathbed.
For some reason, I know that the world has fallen off it's natural axis of "normalcy" but I still hold some hope that something will work out.

"The heavy hand of fate weighted by the phantoms of grim memories wasted upon dying embers of distorted delusion and desire, infected, polluted through strict pitiless vengeance enacted towards immaculate lambs, unbeknownst of such savage agony, bemoaning their sad destiny, faded into a forsaken future, where only guilty grievances animate the surrendered forms of faith and virtue. Ominous clouds fill a darkened sky, pouring open their wounds and sorrows. From the abyss, I rise, determined to never yield again and compromise the beliefs I hold true, taking with me, the abuse, the suffering, as the rain streams down my skin, soaking into my clothes, cleansing me of my doubts. A sunbeam breaks through the misery, and I, I take up my walking staff in my hand, my burden on my back, and walk the narrow road again.

Everybody's so happy, laughing together, while I sit off on my own, waiting there alone, for someone to remember who I am and that I am there. It can't be selfish to want something you've never had, but so desperately need just to survive. I turn around in my chair, devoid of hope, longing for a distraction, gazing at the sky, the stars, so distant, but still reaching me with their light. What if these stars make me want to cry, and the glimmer the tears leave inspires me to sing? It moves me to protect the memories I've had that caused me even the slightest joy, before I must say farewell forever.
So it begins the long, long story. Some day, it will be that new faces fill my life, and pages turn, I will be strong."

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am
Off on my own, solitary, alone, beneath the glorious shade of the trees
Independent and dreaming, ashamed and confined, liberated, vindicated, bemused by the makings around me,
Contemplating in a nostalgic glow the worth and truth of the human soul,
Bearing the burden of the ravages and torture of human life, falling to my knees; rejoicing,
Forever to remember, O, the honor of my long forgotten blood-ship lies along perdition
Independent. And dreaming of taking wing, looking to the skies.