The big black wind whispers in the night
Outlining still-life portraits of people I can’t find
Somehow I can’t do anything right.

Face after face flashes, Apollo’s blinding light
With relentless hope the world becomes blind,
As the big black wind whispers in the night.

I stumble over frail intentions to find insight:
Wanting to rage, instead my vocal chords bind.
Somehow, I can’t do anything right.

And the moons howl at the wolves in fright,
Knowing they’ll always be eclipses behind
The big black wind that whispers in the night.

The stars gossip on whose shine is more bright
I know my incandescence is strictly confined
Somehow, I can’t do anything right.

The children will make their escape tonight,
Dirt-encrusted fingernails and hands intertwined
As the big black wind whispers in the night:
“Somehow, I can’t do anything right.”