Day 3

Sporadic islets exist

almost invisible on the face

on the black seas.

This time many have withdrawn

from the battle in the funeral march,

but the golden spark

was still there,

unwilling to surrender,

glowing brightly as if to say

its energy will never exhaust.

The plague

has a venomous tongue.

By the end of this ordeal

the world is painted black no more.

Will see it no more.

Will see them no more.

I'll be on my own and the

blackness will stand

witness to my solitude.

There will be pulling down

of silver string

no more,

nor rolling up of the curtain

of creamed snow.

There will be no more blackness

to cloak my world

but my future will be

equally dim.

Soon I will miss the

golden dewdrops

and tears of neon blue.

The funeral march will go on

for as long as this tomb

is cold - with or without

the world painted in black.

The sapling may never grow

because you keep the sun

behind your gloom,

the nimbus, your shadow.

But I'll miss you, too,

because you are coming back

no more.

I hope you are coming back

no more.

This will be the last glimpse

to blackness

as it fades to many

different shades

of green like emerald

and turquoise beyond.

Suddenly a familiar face

appeared from nowhere...

Why have you come back?

-Toto