2am Poem by Márk Sidló

Who will guard the door when the wolves come out?
Who delivers the message when all is lost?
Even in silence, the words can be loud,
But the shame is buried in the frost.

My legs are leading me up the hill,
Fresh are filling up my lungs.
Just me and my own free will,
And the Moon is teaching out the youngs.

The town is quiet now, like it's holding its breath,
Under the clouds the streets are sleeping.
The old stones silently play dice with death,
And the shoulders can't shake down this eerie feeling.

The morning is far away, can't even taste it,
In this world of the strange unknown.
Heavy is the crown, but on worthy head will fit,
Shadows will form the forever dark throne.

The night is our friend, but the thoughts are louder,
In this realm we see ourselves better.
The sins are washed away in the clean, deep water,
And the pure soul is the only thing that really matter.

The world tends to be silent, all the clocks are stopped,
But the lights are never gone of innocent eyes.
We feel it, but the rain is undropped,
And we forget that everyone lies.