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Midnight

Midnight. By Grace Bennett. The strike of twelve is murderous! Twisting and turning, rolling from dreams to nightmares, sweeping you from glowing sunshine to darkening thunder clouds, to darkening thunder clouds. Grimy crooked fingers, grab you in your bed,

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Midnight

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  1. Midnight By Grace Bennett

  2. The strike of twelve is murderous! Twisting and turning, rolling from dreams to nightmares, sweeping you from glowing sunshine to darkening thunder clouds, to darkening thunder clouds.

  3. Grimy crooked fingers, grab you in your bed, as though death is dragging you into his realm, into his realm, into his realm.

  4. Frosty winds blow, in and out, weaving through the dazzling stars, dusty from their long, arduous sleep, long arduous sleep, long arduous sleep.

  5. Silent but deadly, it glides along the tops of broken bars, waking the slithering souls that have been left behind, left behind, left behind.

  6. A surrendering scream echoes, across the gloomy streets, murky shadows start to flee, sunrise is coming, sunrise is coming, sunrise is coming.

  7. At last a radiant light spills, over the horizon far away, a bluebird tweets, and the nightmares are gone are gone, are gone.

  8. Shadows wait, For their call to return again, when midnight reveals its self once more, once more, once more.

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