Sometimes in the deepest night
I feel I have the second sight.
Spirits walk beside me then
the ghosts of dark and broken men.
It's all elusive mist it seems;
shade of shades and dream of dreams.
Reality wears broken seams.

Sometimes raging worlds collide
in planetary genocide.
Like the fluttering bluebird wing
existence is a fragile thing.
When comes the time of listless doom?
During daylight or in gloom?
In winters dark or summers bloom?

Sometimes rays of sunlight glint
and worlds beyond unveil to hint
at green meadows sweet and bright
where dead meet living in the night.
Fear not the darkness nor the sea.
Death is mere transendency.
In dreams our missed ones we will see.