It's midnight once more

and all my anguish comes out to riff. 

I should close my eyelids and deny all that I know,

that is a maze of smoke.

But the voice is seductive,

as it has the sound of everything I once adored.

And it's midnight again

although it really is Jesus' hour.

I should have my nightmares in the peace of a bed made of needles

however, my eyes drown in all the scenarios that are my fingers catching the wind

Logic develops its case with conviction

and I am a warrior promised victory

but I am a victim reliving torture.

Ta.