My world is wrapped in a damp shroud
Thick fog clings to the ground
Reaches up and covers any hint of morning.
Headlights shine shafts of brightness
Pushing unsuccessfully through the mist.
It has wound around trees, bushes and homes
In the distance the eastern horizon
Does not yet exist, is not there.
Thick fog clings to the ground
Reaches up and covers any hint of morning.
Headlights shine shafts of brightness
Pushing unsuccessfully through the mist.
It has wound around trees, bushes and homes
In the distance the eastern horizon
Does not yet exist, is not there.
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