Oh, I'M Mad With the Gloom
Oh, I'm mad with the gloom
burning fast to the ground,
I will not be your groom,
You are cold, you are crowned.
You're indifferent as steel,
And the moment's not nice,
Dust of soul, I can feel,
turns in eternal ice.
And the pattern on chest
now is made of hoarfrost,
And the eeriness blessed
that you're not mine, you're ghost.
I'll burn out like the dawn
crumbling to dust so soon,
I am cold when you're gone
And I'm mad with the gloom.
Copyright © Serge Lyrewing | Year Posted 2018
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