Save me from this torment of hell.
The devil is always searching
for victims with souls to sell.
The fire is always burning
and one day we shall finally melt.
This world is but vaguely temporary,
and each day becomes an empty memory.
We're trying to change our very fate
by battling against our own destinies
instead of accepting what is made.
The skies remain blue,
but born as an orange blaze.
It forces us to seek truth,
yet we are oblivious to the flame
as we waste our youth.
The rain comes by again,
healing our burning pain.
Yet the skies are dark,
and the light is feint
as it is in our hearts.
Stars imbued in the sky,
like diamonds in crowns
shining so elegantly bright.
The moon a crystal at night,
as radiant and so proud
like a lone hero or knight.
In the distance the wolves howl,
silence except the crickets chirp.
The end of the day is always found,
and begins again with flight of the birds.
We can't hear our screeching hearts,
but they certainly can be very loud.
It's voice shakes the dancing stars,
and dispels the universe in silent sound.
The very galaxies themselves also bleed
upon hearing of such a crying heart.
Torrential tears fall of broken dreams,
while quiet whispers fly through the
breaking constellation of dying stars.