One, the friends you shun.
Two, darkness they eschew.
Three, a caged bird will die when set free.
Four, you are the hunted, the prey; the boar.
Five, nobbut a bee in the hive.
Six, they've forseen your deceit; belay your tricks.
Seven, a cursed soul shan't return to heaven.
Eight, death is every living being's fate.
Nine, if God is the Devil himself, who do you worship at the holy shrine?
Ten, time tells the day of your damnation.

The Light, the Dark,
Death and decay.
Angels take flight,
Countless souls saved by Noah's Ark.
A fallen Guardian, by the name of Seth.
Humans who pray,
Worshipping the Demon God of Night.
From a being of Light to a being of Dark;
The Grim Reaper it became, for it itself is Death.
A millennium has passed. Unbeknownst to all, the Dark Lord's Day.

Garnier.
The shampoo that makes you put your hands in the air
and scream and shout because you like the smell of your hair.
Disaster strikes when you find you've emptied your share.
So next day, you hurry back to the dragon's lair,
only to find a sign that says, "Buy one, get one free, if you dare."
You wonder why it doesn’t say, “Ferocious beast. Beware.”
Suddenly, you hear something scampering – a hare.
The beast is approaching. You escape but end up taking the pair.
You emerge from the shops feeling like royalty – the heir
to the magnificent and brilliant throne of Garnier.
Something strange is happening. You can feel it, on skin so fair,
with the wind chilling you to the bones and frizzing your hair.
Your ****** features tell it all, a reaction like that is rather rare.
In fact, one man notices you and continues to stare.
Sensing eyes, you turn around, see the man and glare.
You believe that men have no manners, something you should declare.
Yet many oppose your sentiments. They have faith in the mayor,
albeit they complain about the bus fare.
Return to reality. Why is it, your body feels bare?
Glancing at the empty bottle in your hand; a picture of a mare
and some words. You read it out loud, “Take care.
Garnier”.

The light.
Far, far away,
Too high up,
How can it be reached?
It can't.
We can see its glow
And the scattered fragments through the foliage
But we can't touch it.
We aren't able to,
It is simply impossible.
Rather, the light reaches through,
Into the dark
And into our eyes,
And it touches us instead.
The light cannot be reached
But we still have to find it.