Reality rose like the sun
And still I slept through it:
I can always witness it another morning...
The thoughts like these
Are cemented in procrastination
Now this part of 'she' is liquid form
Somewhere on the floor
As a self-defiant need for a cure

Diagnosed to emerge and roam away
From roads as thick as foam
You wish to burn the candles
That quietly service the arm

Another day with the shades pulled down
Until the swallow returns her to sleep
A father knocks on the silent door
While this part of 'she'
Has become an inferno shame
Louder than we expect from such silent candles
Not so secret anymore

Now the eyes of my eyes have opened
Now the eyes of my ears cling dear
Never let the swallow return you back to sleep
The smell of wounds have left you bug-bitten here, and again
I know reality shall rise tomorrow
This time I hope to be awake
For I cannot postpone another morning
Never let the swallow return you to sleep