FROM THAT WINDOW

From that window I keep an eye,
As the night with a stealthy silence lie.
The landscape is a snowy grey,
A fatigued one at the end of the day.

The subdued sheen on mud and snow,
As the shadows intrepid gradually grow.
It is all so eerily quiet and still,
A sense of strangeness the mind does fill.

The moon is full yet not bright,
For asserting itself has to fight.
The darkness caresses the surfaces cold
The sky looks so ominously old.

I know there is something more.
About come though an invisible door.
By then the black clouds will have their sway,
And the moon will just not find a way.

Then there will be a tumultuous downpour,
Drenching the earth to the very core.
I will extinguish my lamp and watch,
In the dark some spine chilling sight catch.

Something dark and infinitely powerful,
Will unleash a most frightening tool.
And the night will turn into devil's playground,
And no ray of light should there be found.

FROM THAT WINDOW

From that window I keep an eye,
As the night with a stealthy silence lie.
The landscape is a snowy grey,
A fatigued one at the end of the day.

The subdued sheen on mud and snow,
As the shadows intrepid gradually grow.
It is all so eerily quiet and still,
A sense of strangeness the mind does fill.

The moon is full yet not bright,
For asserting itself has to fight.
The darkness caresses the surfaces cold
The sky looks so ominously old.

I know there is something more.
About come though an invisible door.
By then the black clouds will have their sway,
And the moon will just not find a way.

Then there will be a tumultuous downpour,
Drenching the earth to the very core.
I will extinguish my lamp and watch,
In the dark some spine chilling sight catch.

Something dark and infinitely powerful,
Will unleash a most frightening tool.
And the night will turn into devil's playground,
And no ray of light should there be found.

FROM THAT WINDOW

From that window I keep an eye,
As the night with a stealthy silence lie.
The landscape is a snowy grey,
A fatigued one at the end of the day.

The subdued sheen on mud and snow,
As the shadows intrepid gradually grow.
It is all so eerily quiet and still,
A sense of strangeness the mind does fill.

The moon is full yet not bright,
For asserting itself has to fight.
The darkness caresses the surfaces cold
The sky looks so ominously old.

I know there is something more.
About come though an invisible door.
By then the black clouds will have their sway,
And the moon will just not find a way.

Then there will be a tumultuous downpour,
Drenching the earth to the very core.
I will extinguish my lamp and watch,
In the dark some spine chilling sight catch.

Something dark and infinitely powerful,
Will unleash a most frightening tool.
And the night will turn into devil's playground,
And no ray of light should there be found.

FROM THAT WINDOW

From that window I keep an eye,
As the night with a stealthy silence lie.
The landscape is a snowy grey,
A fatigued one at the end of the day.

The subdued sheen on mud and snow,
As the shadows intrepid gradually grow.
It is all so eerily quiet and still,
A sense of strangeness the mind does fill.

The moon is full yet not bright,
For asserting itself has to fight.
The darkness caresses the surfaces cold
The sky looks so ominously old.

I know there is something more.
About come though an invisible door.
By then the black clouds will have their sway,
And the moon will just not find a way.

Then there will be a tumultuous downpour,
Drenching the earth to the very core.
I will extinguish my lamp and watch,
In the dark some spine chilling sight catch.

Something dark and infinitely powerful,
Will unleash a most frightening tool.
And the night will turn into devil's playground,
And no ray of light should there be found.