It was one fine wintry morning
The type with sun and dew
Through my window, outside was calling
But fast asleep were you.
My insomnia made me stop and stare
At the silent corpse of yours
Your skin, quiet as the wintry air
So I exited through the oak doors.
I caught a bus out onto the moors
It was grim, cold and need of colour
A scenery that often bores
Then rain fell, making it even duller.
And it was just me
As the weather
I stayed out all night,
Till the sun rose again,
And everything was mediocre.
Lord, tell me
Sunlight, swell me-
What is the point in this?