Home again

How strange it is to think we are not to survive.
Winter is slow in coming and yet it will come for sure.
The sky’s so hoodwinkly bright one nearly gets taken in,
And forgets the heavy clouds that follow our heads.
It is a starless night we strive to keep in.

How strange it is to think we are not to survive.
The candle on the fractured mantelpiece
Sings its lonely song and swings with shadows.
There will be other candles and other shadows
For those who are to live through our ends.

Come what may, you say, knowing the path for us to go.
At your bidding the night will not invade the room.
Come what may, I echo, believing, needing to believe
Things you are more than certain of.
How strange it is to sense that we are not to survive.