Sun goes down on a sullen day
Its flight hidden by clouds of grey
What else do you want me to say?
Moon slides into a broken sky
Its thin beams but a silver sigh
What point is there in asking why?
Stars hang over a dark desolation
Their sharp points an army of occupation
Why should we question our situation?
Lamps light the limp landscape
Neighborhood ghosts defined by shape
When does Dracula come for his cape?
Sun comes up on another dayIts fingers touching growth and decay
What more could I possibly say?
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