The last sun has set all that is left is darkness, thick, smoldering darkness,
swallowing the timid fluttering tourches lite by encouraging mumbles, casting an unforgiving shadow over the once golden corn field.

The last sun has slept all that remains is darkness, heavy, scourging darkness echoing sounds of treads long broken and doors hastily shot.

The last sun is dead,all that is left is darkness, cold shivering darkness, giving out a sweet pungent fragrance, calling out from vallies of opaque oasis, singing promises of rest on marble beds to empty travelers standing at clife ends.

The last sun is forgotten, all that stays is darkness, screaming, eroding darkness, sweeping windward through fields of black flowers and grey memory stones, wiping traces of footprint on sand, blowing away ashes of filled pages of books long ended, while the last flickering candle burns out, darkening the windowpane.

Empty verses