How sullied is the nighttime air and even more cruel The daytime’s Fare. Where a tale lives in the midnight hour only to be shattered by Phantom Lovers.
The rays of the sun, such healing powers bring to put a smile on all mother’s sons and lure songs from maidens rings. Yet that self same golden orb to some lady’s cun but their treasured nights do rob and Mistress Moon to run.
Summer’s habit past too soon. Autumn’s leaves; a dry lagoon. Winter arrived to freeze Father Time. Spring just came to mark the New Year’s chime.
The mind’s eyes see all changes that are reflected. From blue skies and gay seas to cold tragedies wickedly refracted.
Higher and higher the waves now rise. A broiling sea of no cause nor reason spills forth from the ocean full of vice to flood and condemn a maiden’s treason.
Death is what she seeks and courts. Yet the fear of liberation in vain keeps her planted and sorrow’s roots to knot. Thus a desert made when the clouds don’t rain.