nighttime phantoms of birds swoop low through the breeze,
greeting bats with sweet melodies and mingling in the trees.
not only do their songs tingle the ears of few,
but they are gone with the moon and the mid-morning dew.

in a world that's hellbent on division
you might just be my flavour of strange;
and if love is a war,
you can have my allegiance.
if we we burn, we burn bright;
if we die, then we die
holding hands at the edge.
like two planets on course for collision,
we trade endless stagnation for change;
and whatever the cost,
we're not bound by the limits.
if we live, we live now;
if we die, then we die
holding hands at the edge.

i met him at a masquerade, a silly place
where people do not need names.

wearing the mystery of the night,
dancing under the raw spotlight,
his honey lips, his indecisive eyes
were feeding innocent souls with lies.

but then i saw him, at midnight,
alone and hidden with his one light
-the lonely moon, the queen of dead
in front of whom his cheeks turned red.

he was just a tragic moonlover
when the masquarade was over.
oh, that poor disguised angel
made falling in love seem so fatal...