The days are grey

Without a sun

The nights are dark

The oppressive run

Around the last dying embers

Their faces washed out

By the colorless sky

Loudly protesting the cold

The people can all sense the light

Their minds all shouting praise

In unison

They know they must be right

The fallen wail

With glowing eyes

Of woe and suffering

They gorge themselves

On the darkness of it all

Wе mourn the footfalls

Of our lost souls dancing near

A sound of rhythmic beating

Thеy thought they knew

How could they save themselves

Slow is their comprehension

The face of such tortured malice

Unknowing begets unknowing

Shrouded spirits of hinterlands

Descend upon us all