The night whispers it lies,

Keeping us from the truth thats inside.

It darken one’s lamp until all is sorrow.

The chaff bear its wait,

It took what you loved,

And it did with your own hands.

The pitt you lie and wait,

You scramble to get out,

Yet the hands you accept pushes you back in.

When will get you out of the night?

These hands,

Truth,

Mercy,

Forgiveness.

Otherwise the chaff will rule here, and the night be endless.