Winds roar, tearing locks of the night.
Heaving like gales on meek rooftops.
Like a thief running for cover.
Like a pack howling in flee.
Like a claim to promised lies.
Like the tyrants battle cry.
Like a peak scaled but never conquered.
Like a corpse that refuses to die.

As dark is swept, a flicker fights.
A window creaks in pains of longing.
The winds then roar in empty walls.
Where murmurs are silent and words denied.