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.