K.E.Lewis - Stormy Night Sojourn lyrics

I'm sitting in a dark room. Four of my friends are with me; if it weren't for these tea lights could we see each other? The storm came and knocked out the power about an hour ago. I tried to get home in it, but the winds battered me. Natures vast power reminding me of how helpless it is being humyn. The wind mocking my feebleness with each gust. Does heaven know how it's tears pierce? Tears that sap strength and turn my core to brittle ice. Standing under the vast expanse of waring skies one can feel infinitesimal. A grain battered by the tide… I wonder whether the moon would free itself from Terra Matter's clutches if it could. Freed, would it spin towards a new destiny or a new doom. Novum Fata: One in the Same. I wonder if the waves would choose to be free the moon's might, and in so doing cease to exist. Celestial ceremony. Infinite levels of lowness. I was saved from the full wrath of that eve. My mother was near, still able to fly to her little boy's aid. She sheltered me home. The entire way, with pools of love in her eyes, she admonished me for waiting until the last moment to realize I was in trouble. I would be safe at home she told me. Could I stay there though? Could i go to bed, with it's depth of warmth and comfort, having huddled behind a hovel praying that this night i could outlast? I doubt I could have; I think rest was to much to ask of me. I had been out in the storm already. I felt too awake; too alive. She sent me out with her car and a warning. Mater. I drove with the worst of the storm back to my journey's origin. Instinctively I reached for the outside handle to let myself out of the car. My muscles refusing to forget the act necessitated by my own sh**ty poverty. I caught myself - stopped myself- and opened the door properly, and stepped out into the torrent. Safe: never would I have been prepared for this tempest had I not been given the tools. I couldn't afford them on my own, of this I am a**ured for I have found neither the time nor monies to repair the simplest of my jalopies ailments. I walked out of the storm and into it's aftermath. Stepping into the house i was met with a frail glow. Candles were being lit, placed haphazardly in those areas they could fit. The power must be out. However, no one would confirm my suspicions. They, caught up in the novelty of life unconnected, reveled in the chance to live simplistically. That is how i came to be in the basement of a house: powerless. The tea lights faintly illuminate none of the rooms corners. Thankfully they foster our ability to see the shadows of each others faces. You think we'd be talking, but we aren't. What would we talk about; we've run out of the bullsh** new friends have to gab ceaselessly about. We know each others schedules. We can tell all of each others best stories (as many of which we experienced together as apart). The newness of our companionship has worn, all that is left is the future. It's about this time when we become enthralled by the lamp hung by the ceiling with a paperclip. Maybe it's just that we like the floating fire, and the soft pirouette of the shadows it casts. Accents of lightning and fire; thunderclaps and gales. And then someone hits their head on the lamp and it sways, creaking with each pa**. We've done this dance. Annabel Strange; caught forever to waltz through the halls of Lost-Hope. When was I enchanted? After a long silence one of the guys remarks that things aren't much different without the power on. Shouldn't there be some difference, no matter how profound? We continue to sit there, the circle unbroken, unsure of what to do. Someone decides to play music. He is heralded as a god for having a charged laptop. He controls the mood, he has power. Someone grabbed a speaker so The Message could be projected throughout the room. An audience captivated. The drums and thunder melded into a seamless beat that resonates with each listener. Some move in response, most remain stoic in their seats. In an effort to break the monotony some of the guys start mentioning things that sound fun, nearly all of which require the power to be back on. Nearly none of which haven't been suggested daily for the last two years. We fantasize about the fetish of the power returning to us. I want something different, don't I? But I don't have time to examine my desires because suddenly the power is back on. Nobody moves except to clutch desperately for their pocketed electronics. Five minutes pa**, the sounds of a song-- faintly piercing through the reconnected self-absorption the power has brought-- tethers me to reality. Time moves at a faster clique. Words finally fly through the air; no one will ever hear them. They are meant only for those we aren't able to talk to. Soon we are all texting. We never did get around to talking to each other. Everyone gets up to go about their business up. Most move back upstairs, to their enclosures. Only two others and myself stay downstairs. The music is softer now: rhythm; blues. As the bridge moves to melody, let the repetition of our lives resume. Let me be lull me to back into darkness. Soon I will fall asleep.