Twilight blue rebounds behind
A great ridge of color
Calling for man
To stand before the night

From a distance
Quiet but restless
The brazen foliage always falls
Darkness follows every time

To hear them sing is ecstasy,
Melodies dancing above the ether.
Mortals could never reach their heights.
Blessed with songs sweeter than honey,
We bask in their ethereal beauty.
Each note is a stab in the heart,
Mended only by the seraph's serenade.

Their grandeur is so great
That one must shield their eyes.
With a voice as rich as a cello,
Even speech is bliss.
With lips as red as blood,
They sanctify the most mundane of words.
Nothing could compare.

Drunk on song,
And driven mad by their melodic laughter,
We thirst for their divine hymns.
Human vocals are beastly and crude,
Only worsening our hunger.
Still, we are torn away from perfection,
Pining for the music of angels.

We kiss their feet,
Begging to hear them sing once again.
Heartlessly, they turn away from us.
Never did we think that they would be so cruel.
Desperately, we cry out.
One last pitiful whimper,
Ignored by angelic virtuoso.