Gone...

It's under my bed where the darkness lies...

Scattered dreams of wounded butterflies...

I half awaken to the daunting dawn; to find my sanity is all but gone...

I stumble through my dream-like day...

Masking the fact that you've gone away...

I struggle with my fear of God, as the reaper gently turns and nods...

So now it's time for me to go... To sleep on the hill where the tall oaks grow...

Despair slowly exits along with my pain...

And I fade into the day like the whispering rain...