Insomniac’s Choir

The battery's dying, the screen's turning dim.

I've followed each trail to the very last rim.

My fingernails look like they're painted in gray,

a color that shouldn't be seen in the day.

Then out in the gutter, a sparrow starts in,

a high-pitched and lonely and desperate din.

The sun is a threat and the morning is new,

and I’m still awake and still thinking of you.