When shadows come forth with life, as day turns to night.
The secrets of our hearts are brought forth into site.
We seek our keys, those that let us lock it all away.

The things that we desire, our memories, the darkest hours.
As the night grows cold and the moon rises high.
Feathered wings as red as the rose move swiftly.

They are those of the night, beauty of the angel.
With the darkest of days in the minds.
Eyes of other worlds, reasons from those of olden days.

Yes, yes they do exist. What you may not believe.
For I am the Fallen Angel that hovers in the trees.
That has shattered the puzzle of the world.
I am, not of this world or the next.

For I am Fallen. And I must pay for my distress.