Droplets of sorrow fall, reddened from blood
Drenched and dying skies; the blackened sign of
Horrifying strife. Behold the plains we
Tread: a barren, wasted flesh of Gaia.

Wars soar through the skies, the unceasing damned’s
Thirst for blood. Hear the faint echoes of those
Who suffer in pain in the deep darkened pits:
Freezing my veins, as cold as arctic winds.

I hear their voices, trembling with fear: an
Angel of light, devoured by the vicious
Chimaera. Child of Hope, bound with chains, burned
By fire below and ice above. Good Queen
Purity, slave to the whims of King Strife.
Their cries rip through my heart. Tears fall, red tears.

The white knight of good is lost in a dark
Forest, surrounded by seven monsters
Of sin. The silver sword, plagued with rust. The
Steed, on poison thorns of evil it treads.

I do not see-cannot see the light. Where
Are the four angels of virtue? Where is
The path to the sleeping courage of man?
Where? I see it not. Will the heaven’s song
Be played in the darkness, this freezing hell?

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