(no subject)
it's the same old sad,
hanging down from the sky
like curls of a golden god
fast asleep in his heaven.
the quiet night sadness
keeps me awake till daybreak
and the cracks of dawn spread
her rosy light over the city,
and everything is too bright for my eyes.
the dying hope of dusk
lingers, and we love it
because it is what it is
and we will miss its false brightness
once it gives into the quiet night sad
and want to see everything as it was,
rose-colored, like early dawn.
and it is night again,
sad and black.
nothing is too bright,
nothing is colored white,
nothing is rosy,
and we want to change it back,
but this is the way the world is at the close of day.
this is the way the world looks
so we close our eyes and pray
that if we wake in the morning
that there will be light again.
and the morning bright, colored rosy,
is the only reason to go to bed at night.
hanging down from the sky
like curls of a golden god
fast asleep in his heaven.
the quiet night sadness
keeps me awake till daybreak
and the cracks of dawn spread
her rosy light over the city,
and everything is too bright for my eyes.
the dying hope of dusk
lingers, and we love it
because it is what it is
and we will miss its false brightness
once it gives into the quiet night sad
and want to see everything as it was,
rose-colored, like early dawn.
and it is night again,
sad and black.
nothing is too bright,
nothing is colored white,
nothing is rosy,
and we want to change it back,
but this is the way the world is at the close of day.
this is the way the world looks
so we close our eyes and pray
that if we wake in the morning
that there will be light again.
and the morning bright, colored rosy,
is the only reason to go to bed at night.