A grey beast atop; it howled, it growled.
The stream of his blood; it rained, it flowed.
Light beams everywhere,
but the sun was found nowhere.
I fought for rest; I tried to sleep,
And the symphony has made me weep.
Oh sun, come bring a knife;
I am tired of this life.
It is stormy here in the Philippines, and the weather demands me to write a poem.