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In these times

When sickness holds

A solemn pact with death

One did fall

Unto sickness

And shivering slumber

Oh heaven above, why

Is woe on misery piled

Under these skies

Should one more of us die?

From darkest skies

This night unfolds

With the most gentle breath

Still does one fall

Unto that good night

From pain ever yonder

On the concrete shade-tendrils

Slowly creep and crawl

By evenfall the shadow-fingers

Point towards the dawn

I watch the insects

Scurrying along the waning light

For them the dark means death

Whereas we hold dear this cover of the night