White moth are thy not drawn to dull flame?
Hath said flame to emanate from Night Mare's mane,
Shall thy flutter past all the same?
Nay,
Whitest moth in darkest night,
dance towards brightest flame tonight,
Embrace her tremors, Embrace her hate,
Embrace the void she procreates,
Kiss her in the form of impending threat,
Spill crimson beads across her *******,
White moth are thy not drawn to death,
Be sleep but hollow in final breath?
Nay.

Glory, Oh Glory ,
You wake in the ash and streams of blood;
You see past the cruel and rise high above;
Victory.

A forbidden fruit soaked in death,
Crawled in my mouth as i thus slept,
With anticipated movements crept,
Down in my heart and ate all that was left.

An empty sullen vessel i became,
Filled with grief, stricken with shame,
I hid my face and rid my name,
And vowed to cease infernal pain.

Had misery left behind her knights,
And came alone into this fight,
A checkmate would have been in sight,
For now this king is left to die.

How violins wept the notes of sorrow,
From angels voices tunes were borrowed,
'Fraid that 'night will ne'er birth tomorrow,
That i may sleep and become hollow.

seulement la nocturne
restera éternel

In a garden where snakes do play
I frolic in wonder toward their caves
Ripened they gather your flaws
As you play my harp with your golden bone claws