on my way to the lonely path,
a crimson moon began to wake on its sleep,
a dying soul and brooding feeling began to show,
to see its face and had to plead its presences,
understand this  what it isn't there doesn't mean it doesn't exist,

a signed under a wistful doubt when its staring at you,
and her embrace of its whaling whisper began to lead you,
into a unknowing places that you never been before,
and you wished you never follow that thought,

they once alive like you,
breathing their own everyday live and their sorrow,
but then they become something else on afterlife,
i beg to differ from ignorant thought,
just because they aren't real you cant believe them,
its a little too late when they manifest in front of you.