The Sun claws at my day, drawing from it what I cherish 
I suffer in the light while people pray for the illumination of the world
Each day is hard, the Sun is ruthlessly bold 
For even in its majestic glory, I feel cold. 
This is just a play of words, a farce to keep me going 
Yet I feel the Doom, the air reeks of its rotting smell 
These vague emotions tire me out, feed the gloom that serves the day