I keep a pencil and a book
I say this is how a life can look
Russian roulette, French-kissed cigarette
And the silence like an anvil
The things that you learn, but now all
That burns
Is a candle
And the fog melts over the night, and
It softens the edges
I begin to write in the dead of the night
A bead of sweat runs down my arm
And I drink it from my skin
It is the most real thing that I feel
It is communion
Bless the meek
Heal the sick
Protect the weak
In the dead of the night