Selfishly taking the last sheltered bits of youth out of women who work the street corners, rejected at midnight.

Merciless murderer of innocent beauty and bliss, the monster under pillows that steals dreams and makes them dark.

You've consumed their spirits, you've made them unclean.

Swiftly running through each child and woman's temple, guiltless and oblivious, like the wind that tears through a silent starry night.

You, the reckless wind, flirt with raven hair and toss skirts and flatter smiles. A courting routine performed before the ritual of electrifying your victims from within.

The sensation is glorious for the moment that is brief but will surely overpower the purity that sings their many relic souls to sleep.

Like a Summer Fruit picked from a dying Winter Tree, you've taken virtues hostage, you've made them mean.

To those that still breathe in the pureness of air, take shelter, young ones, run. Elude the oppressor, with *** lingering in his essence.