The sky is not so blue today,
The grass is not so green,
The sun does not gleam half so bright
As in my faintest dream.

The broken windows to my soul
Receive not e'en a glance,
And so my mood depends only
On memories left to chance.

Within a not so distant past
I see a lonely room
Where darkness dwells and dirges play
Upon this child's tomb.

So many hours were spent on hate
That love refused to live,
And when, at last, I left that room,
I'd nothing left to give.

But some strange hope refused to die,
Some deeper dream lived on,
That somehow I would rise again,
Live, and carry on.

The sky is not so blue today,
But neither is it black.
The world is just the shade of grey
To hide the things I lack.

And as I seek to draw a breath,
It catches in my throat.
The colors flash before my eyes —
I smile . . . and then I choke.