The Sun, my dear love,
My sweet Sol, I thank you,
For this marvelous gift
You have given to me.

This present of chasing you,
Is glorious, others would dream of this,
But did it need this catch twenty-two,
Did it need this sickness, this curse?

I am sick - diseased,
Due to your gift my dear,
Blessed to be in your love,
Cursed to be burnt by your rays.

I let my infatuation build oblivion,
I let myself decay in your presence,
I let myself fall, deep down —
Let myself become addicted to abuse.

Please take back this gift,
Please cure me of your curse,
This isn't love, it never was,
This is dependence, this is toxicity.

I let you drain my blood and soul,
While believing you're the light,
The very thing that brings life,
But I was only feeding your vampiric ways.

You were never the bright Sol,
You were the grey, the outlier,
I am the green —was the green
I too, am like you now, a vampire, dead.

Bring me my freedom,
Feed me my sweet future,
I must find the necromancer in his home,
Ask him to bring me back to life.

Just so I can run far away,

Just so I can turn back to green.

I live in a world of green
Yet, I'm a faded shade of grey.
A dark stormy night resides in my eyes,
While the world is teeming with light.

The world - it's beautiful,
Brilliant and lively,
But here I am —
In opposition, to it all.

I'd rather sit here, in my home,
Made from death and decay.
Lick my wounds,
And drink the poison from your veins.

Every drop, a new addiction.
A new need, a new desire,
To have the only toxicity
In a land of clean.

Let it course through my body.
Let it wrack my brain.
Let it come.
Let it be my downfall, my oblivion.

Let my fangs turn red with your iron.
Bring your poison to me,
I'll take the burden away,
Only few, can handle the grey.

Feed my dependence,
Bring me my abuse,
Take the necromancer from his home
Make him bring me back to life.

Just so I can fall again,

Just so I can fade back to grey.

A small flutter in the morning twilight,
Moving along with the tranquil wind.
A set of gossamer wings float and  hover,
A moth's last dance through the mist.

The ebony barked trees loom tall and mighty,
And deep shadows enshroud the bush.
Magic, early light rays glimmer down,
Counting down each the moth's final breaths.

A dewy air of sweet vapour encases,
And clings to the flora of the copse.
The birds sings songs of a suspenseful dawn.
Harmonious is the morn, as the moth lands for rest.

Sing out, you canorous birds, sing out,
Let the gossamer wings dance home on your song.
As the morning mist subsides to a sunny sky,
A life comes to an end, surrender to the dew.

And oh, the moth, she grieves the moon.