The Sun Sets Over the Morning

The sun sets over the morning rush.
Betrayed by where we were once welcome,
We are all alike, in this way flushed.

Painting storms with a decaying brush
Obscuring strokes with a hasty thumb,
The sun sets over the morning rush.

The dam once broken will always gush
Till, nearly drowned, we at last grow dumb
We are all alike, in this way flushed.

Night becomes day, cries the singing thrush,
Our own ringing songs have left us numb;
The sun sets over the morning rush.

Our silent harvest grows ever lush
As we wonder what it may become,
We are all alike, in this way flushed.

The most simple word will find me crushed
As I wait in fear for what may come
The sun sets over the morning rush.
We are all alike, in this way flushed.