In the corner of my room there is a window,
The frame is rotted, the glass is dirty,
But it is there,

In the morning, it catches the first light and brightens the bare walls,
By noon, it has become a portrait,
A beautiful decoration, seeming a bit out of place,
When the sun starts to set, the portrait changes,
Ominous, as long shadows stretch off into the horizon,
At night, it is empty,
A deep, black vision, stretching into nothingness,

And in the morning, as you would expect,
The cycle is continued,
And will continue,
Until I have had enough,
And I pull down the shade.