In the evening the birds praise God from tops of trees

In the evening the trees reach closer to the Lord.

In the dark the night becomes dim

For the way of the Lord can be crowded by the night

The warmth chased by the cold

The love chased by the emptiness

The edge of despair, cuts through the body

It ebbs and flows in a substitute reality

Of pain, Of cold

In a place of no pain, no feeling, no joy.