Dark figures followed by dark streams

In the imagination of all my dreams—

Haven’t, it seems, been hear before

In the Midnight Gloom décor.

 

Flower of poison, seed of sadness

Laced together in the truth’s bareness—

Sounds like another day of sorrow

When the Midnight Gloom moves onto tomorrow.

 

Wolfs of sacred packs, climb down from their caves

Speechless and silent as they pray—

“Let us today forget the past,

And let not the Midnight Gloom last.”

 

Little tales of sulking creatures

Once with dull or striking features—

Don’t understand that when they fight

The Midnight Gloom crushes out more of the light.

 

When the birds start to sing, dance, and play

And they the fresh flowers fill the scene of day—

And when the full moon finally does rise

That’s when The Midnight Gloom dies.