The Sleeper, the Angel, and I

On this darkest hour,
of the darkest night,
when heavy eyes become slumber, and slumber becomes dream,
I find myself lost in thought.
A thought of dark and light, of black and white
where words become song
of beauty or sadness, of peace or madness;
to live within this cry, in this otherwise silent night, I long.
Meanwhile the sleeper dies
And will never again hear the music of the angel's light,
or its prayer of dreadful, unknown woe.

The sleeper, the angel and I
Bid me well fair night of nights
When each of us, as you cast yourself upon, must die
First the sleeper, then the angel, then I
Embraced by the dawn's eve shall be
When in acts of empty remembrance, gentle stygian night,
Wretched, tainted dreams we weave
And disregard unspoken words that make our hands unclean.
For this, we will forever grieve
And for its consummation we will wait forevermore

Still, this we ask of you
Recite only tales about the better days of ignorance
For the moment before angel's death, the sleeper's death
the evolution of thought,
is the last moment of bliss before the rueful moment when innocence is lost

And when I sleep or die tonight
As I slept or died last night,
Won't you cry the song of life,
and light my way so I can follow?
Be brief for me, cold night of nights
and I'll no longer pray away my sorrow

At least, until I die again tomorrow.