Shadow

Among well lit planes
Scared by approaching dark
Even the outline of a fruit
Possesses some sinister sense
The glowing orbs are harmless
Yeah, keep telling yourself that
As the tendrils tenderly approach,
to give your existence a massage
The streaking blur of light
A play of light in ink
Right, I absolutely believe you
Maybe that’s why the bike wont start?
Fungus on buildings dim the whitewash
The dark fore is scared as well
Whatever you do, don’t look back
Lest you want to be a shadow too

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