Will there ever be a morning when this darkness turns to gray?
Will these winter-summers droll on further into disarray?
Will I see you in the morning when the dusk is yesterday?
Will you be there when I wake up or will our love slip away?
Will I never see a morning when the moon shines no ray?
Will the gloom ghouls never give up or will hope seize the day?
I am here now in the mourning of my soul’s own slow decay,
Still in waiting for a sunrise—’nother day, another day.