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