Late in the night
There is no sleep
There is the ghosts
Of past mistakes
Of long gone guilt
Late in the night
There is no sleep
There are the questions
There ist the doubt
There is the self-loathing
Late in the night
There is no sleep
There is he wine
Rich red and fragrant and
So very unlike blood
On its visionary waves
I drift to distant shores
Cast adrift
On a shore
Bathed in Unfamiliar light
A beloved one on an island
An old friend fighting in a hospital
In the cherished city
Of coffee
And white horses
Two very different forms
Of absence
Late in the night
There is no sleep
There is
Just me
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