When night was not not but all and without disparity
The old songs sang from the earthbones
Now day's elder sibling lies weary
Pray sing her to sleep
With words like soft starlight
A night of new and gentle song
The small hours are when talk with our biggest flaws, not as adversaries but as friends.
"Shall I partake in vice such as yours?" asked the wolf to the lamb
"What vice might I carry that trumps yours of blood and fang?" Replied the lamb
"Innocence." Snarled the wolf, full of sorrow
"I think you shall." Answered the lamb "For innocence might shall exist only when we indulge it."
"It is beautiful, this vice." Lamented the wolf, bearing words full of scars
"It is" Agreed the lamb, bring words like bandages