For another night, I tried writing stories again. Below the evening light, I hold upon my worn out pen. Within a hoary place, that used to be filled with magic. In life's unending race, now all I feel is homesick. Glancing upon the night sky, countlessly I ask for answers. The intent of a fool's lies, handwritten in a pile of papers. Started scrawling again, for the hope of you to understand me. Tonight I conclude again, that hope itself is a misunderstanding. So as the words came to stay, upon an evening that's soon to break. Just needed a little sway, from this long sleep I'm now awake. After a distant travel, to a land that made me sober. Let me repeat the cycle, and be this life's hopeless lover..