Midnight Sun

Waiting for the midnight Sun,
To paint those mountains white,
A single soul in solemn prayer,
As the day is born from night.

When darkness cedes its destiny,
To the calling of the Sun,
It's the Warrior who's standing firm,
Against the chaos the night has done.

For in his stubborn heart a truth,
Learned from wicked, bleeding scars,
That nothing can provide his heart,
What resides in midnight stars. 

To his love he knows that he'll be true,
To his soul he knows the same,
To the voices that try to break his heart,
He just stands and says her name.

For no truer path has this man walked,
Though he's traveled very far,
It's when the night hides the path below,
He just looks up to find that star.

When the darkness turns to blue,
And the warrior can sleep,
He dreams of a certain poet's touch,
And other things so deep.

Yet when the night returns again,
And the evening has begun,
He stands so firm and knows his truth,
She is his midnight Sun.