At midnight all the land shakes dead-
and not even the leaves dance for your presence.

The wonders of it all are up to the stars.
They'll either save you or make you question the unquestionable.

You hope for a soul in the streets to awaken you,
but their souls have gone down to rest from the stress of their days that dilute them and sinks them in- farther and deeper yonder to the core of the earth.

You hope for a glint in their eyes from the outside looking in,
but all you get is a hint of the wind splashing down on a cool Wednesday night in the heat of April.
Yet the night is so cold as you lie there day dreaming-
and you can't help but wonder where all the people have gone to.