Those dark days when
Cumulus clouds clothe
Demeaning disaster dig
And meaningless mounds mount
On the very troubled mind
The mounds of your dead past
With scary owls perching
On their very own slants
A catapult pulls back the dark
To pave way for His Mercies
Which are fresh every morning
A troubled soul and a torched heart
Freckled with pain and sorrow
A burning mind with ill thoughts
Gyrating in circles of despair
A pierced body with dripping blood
Quenches your blood to your foes
A catapult pulls back the dark
To pave way for His Mercies
Which are fresh every morning
But my catapult seems broken
My dead self fails to awaken
My dusk seems not to pave way
For the dawn that I await with glee
All seems lost and ashes of my past
Seem to rise again
A villain I want to be and a worldy fanatic
My soul yearns to be
Furthermore, this life aint worth it
Again I implore
A catapult pulls back the dark
To pave way for His Mercies
Which are fresh every morning