We wander these hill,
lost within ourselves
as we watch the world move on.

We have come to realize
that we aren't meant to be a part of it all,
as we watch the world move on.

We hang our heads,
so as to not lose faith in reality,
as we watch the world move on.

Through the cracks in the soil you grow,
with barely enough rain found to sustain your fragility.

With nothing to protect you but your thorns,
meant to draw the darkest of blood.

Yet you grow by moonlight, the sun too bright
to allow you to retain your petals so deep.

And here you waiting for that soul as lonely as you,
so as to find appreciation in one who understands.

You shall stay with this one until that day,
The day the petals wilt.

The faces of the night,
formed by air and fright,
are of the strongest barriers.

From a child so small,
to many so tall,
the barrier keeps us trapped.

We dare not attempt
to cross a wall so dense,
for what is the creatures are more than they seem?

They take to the street on this night of Halloween;
A night to celebrate; to feast unseen.

What is perceived as a mask,
of horns and decay,
Is in truth just the face of a nightmare ready to play.

For this is the night that
they have freedom to roam,
with no one to stop them from approaching a home.

The door is opened,
by a victim so bold.
and as she turns away, they leap from the cold.

In the blink of an eye,
they are ready to eat,
the last thing they heard being "Trick or Treat".

Tendrils of ebony slithering about,
looking to latch onto a soul so pure.

The purpose to drain the life within,
And raise it as their own; a creature of the dim.

The soul is ready,
the last of livelihood stripped away.

As from life comes death,
And from death is peace.
But peace turns to horror
As death becomes life.

They rise from the ground,
Hungry and ready to hunt.

Their tastes are unique,
They desire not a cow nor a horse,
Not a snake nor a rat.

They crave just one flavor,
And that flavor is you.

The moth flies in circles,
Forever distracted by the light.

Surely it must be the moon,
Telling it where to go.

Yet as long as it remains on,
The moth shall never escape.

For it is in the moth's nature
to always follow the light.

Until the time comes
that the moth is not but ash.

Reaching for a light
that cannot be had,
For it is but a mirage
hanging in the Blackness.

She dreams of a new way
to live the life she has forgotten,
Hoping to be released from
a life not worth remembering.

But a life of immortality
does not come with that choice.
A life without death is empty,
there's nothing to value when there is nothing to lose.

She is free to live her life
anyway she shall choose,
Yet she will spend eternity
reaching for that light.

These chains that bind us
shall never break.
We have worked to hard
to build them around us.

Slamming doors on those who don't understand,
turning the lock and throwing out the key.
Resigning to reside within ourselves.

Waiting in the shadows, we lurk
seeking out that one soul,
the one as lost as ourselves.

These chains that we bound ourselves with
shall never break; shall never release.
All we can do is wait for the one
who's chains fit with ours so well.

Wars are fought and people are lost.
Babies are born and grandmas die.
But this means nothing to someone who had nothing.

The world moves on, leaving us behind.
Time stands still as we watch it go.

The second hand flies, the minute hand close behind.
Hours tick by, days are gone in a blur.
Time never stops, just leaves us behind.

No one sees us, we keep to the shadows.
They walk past, not a care in the world.
At their hand, we are frozen in reality.

Tomorrow will come, but we will not know.
We remain on our own, without someone to hold,
living out our sentence, trapped in the clock of eternity.

his was war and this was what always happened in war.

The young and the strong
The young and the brave
The young and the weak
All die the same.

Other young people killed them.

Those who spent their lives moping about by themselves
would mope along right into their graves.

Those who were defiant
would defy until they dropped dead.

The maudlin would weep and the deal makers would bargain
and the jokers would joke.

But every last one of them would die.
For it is in death that we are truly equal.