Once upon a wishing day, in the silent hour,
Between the not quite nighttime
And the not quite lighttime,
In that prickling silence, the heart awakes.

Awakes to a bed of tired sadness, wrapped
In the stifling grey of alone,
Senses the moment, cold as stone
As the ticking, crippling dawn arrives.

Arrives like a thief, commanding attention,
Arbeit macht frei
Are the words of the day,
Round the huts, the fences and chimneys.