Walk alone in this fading light

The lamps are low, a bruised twilight bleeds, Across the pane where the rain still pleads. Each drop a sigh on the dusty glass, Watching the moments slowly pass. A whisper soft on the chilling breeze, Rustling secrets through the skeletal trees. The path unwinds, a ribbon of stone, Leading me deeper, further alone. Each twisted branch, a reaching hand, Grasping for something I can't understand. The air grows thick with a damp perfume, Sealing my fate in this gathering gloom. And I walk alone in this fading light, Where shadows stretch and swallow the white. A phantom limb of a memory's call, Echoing softly beyond the wall. Is it real, this shape in the grey? Or just the forest stealing my day? A flicker there, behind the dense wood, A fragile hope, misunderstood? Or just the moon, a sliver so thin, Mocking the darkness that dwells within? And I walk alone in this fading light, Where shadows stretch and swallow the white. A phantom limb of a memory's call, Echoing softly beyond the wall. Is it real, this shape in the grey? Or just the forest stealing my day? The forest breathes, a silent sigh, As the last of the colors begin to die. And I am lost, and I cannot see, If the forest is holding onto me. Holding onto me... Holding onto me...