The Air Returns.

The air returns..
Returns the closing November chill.
Returns the same obscurity of vision.
On cold winter dusks.
As I traverse the same damp roads again..

The air returns.
Returns the closing November chill.
Returns the same insatiable aching.
In lone winter nights.
And I still wander in these dark corridors.
To hear the whistle of the train...

And as the cold damp air tries to carress my face,
with an effort to penetrate inside.
I put back the shell, the veil.
And walk away.
For inside there breathes,
A spark in this heart.
Longing to survive.
Fighting the cold, the mist.
And I fear the winds...