Mute and angry the street lamp spectres dance outside This waxen island of light and you are there The silent one. There is nothing of worth to be found this way It cannot be shared but with the few Who have felt the stab but not seen the blade And opened their souls to heaven and begged deliverance. There are no moths in frenzied dance beneath This winter's lamp. No children smile upon this night But by chance in peaceful sleep. There are boarded up fountains and empty streets And you are here, the silent one. There is no love that will wait today For the man that travels to a distant land Or a place that is still his home when he returns. But there is time for a moment such as this When you stare through the dark, When you look inside And find nothing but the hurting.