Warming a mug of old stale coffee
Over a fire about to dye
I hear an owl claim some trophy
But deaths no longer make me cry
The sky is clear,,brigth,stars above us
Above me, owl and dieing rodent
And death;s no longer worth the fuss
When frost is will's and hope's corrodent
The ice is shield and grave at once
For frozen mud and frozen hearts
On lone clifs where dark shadows dance
Over wind's howlings sharp as darts
Thin as illusions the poor steam
Of my black liquid consolation
Spreads warmth and fragrance of lost dream
Half bitter-sweet, half sour frustration
One fate we share me, mouse and owl
One thing differing is the timing
Of meeting death and just how foul
Will be its taste,how lame its rhyming
If trembling hands on weapon grips
Will be last thing yours eyes to sore
And how last sounds to leave your lips
Are no faint squeakings bot a roar
Eyes sworn to stay forever dry
Glance towards a reddish crack of dawn
Over red embers about to die
Torn eyes of wolf from eyes of fawn
