In the trees I see the breeze
the gentle rustle of the leaves
I beg for peace, I'm begging please
but all I feel is black.

I spy the clouds, the soft, white shrouds
they travel slow, they travel proud
I long for joy, amongst their crowds
but all I know is black.

And in my soul I feel the cold
the nightfall grows and thickens bold
but heart and mind I do not scold
because I love the black.

It holds me.
And it whispers to me.
And tempts me.
And I let it.
Because I love it.


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