(with loud echoes of Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" and "Acquainted With the Night," and a dash of Shakespeare)
Awake, awake, without a single light,
The woods are where I walk when I can't sleep.
I'm far too well acquainted with the night.
No reason's good enough for us to fight.
I miss you. But we both know words are cheap.
Awake, awake, without a single light.
The darkness is a blanket, wrapping tight.
What dreams may come, when dreams in darkness creep?
I'm far too well acquainted with the night.
Another poem almost described it right:
The woods are dreadful, silent, dark, and deep.
Awake, awake, without a single light.
We're far too far apart; it isn't right.
I count the days without you like they're sheep.
I'm far too well acquainted with the night.
I've many miles to go, but not tonight,
And I have many promises to keep.
Awake, awake, without a single light;
I'm far too well acquainted with the night.
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