The night will always be empty
With stars no longer a plenty
No crickets shall be heard chirping
No wind shall be heard whispering
Only voices, voices shouting out from the abyss
each heart wrenching screech shall come a sickening bliss.
Blood will flow endlessly from your lips
And a swift death, given by a bittersweet kiss
Your pain shall be rewarded by joy
Harm shall reciprocate pleasure
Defeat will no longer yield anger
And death shall no longer seem as stranger
Tears will mix with blood and sweat
Over flowing your emotions so
Struggle will no longer give you fret
As it shall flower a beautiful sorrow
The night will always be empty
With only the moon shining
It will, however, be filled a plenty
With flowers of sorrow blooming.