Eternal Souls of the dead soar on ravens wings, Into a vermilion sky. The burning city lies below, Blood dripping steadily through storm drains. Buildings collapse in silence, A silence unbroken, save for crackling of flames, And the terrified weeping of survivors, Who near death themselves. Shattered glass is strewn throughout the streets, Cars rust and fall apart, The destruction is total, None survive I the end. But on a corner stands a fiddler, Beneath a broken street lamp. He plays a song of consolation and comfort, To ease the passing of those themselves to be damned. His melancholy song continues for eternity, For this lone, pale fiddler, Dressed all in black, Is Death himself, And his song shall continue for as long as mortals count years.
Review, damn you!...... Please?
Madness Masque · Tue Dec 14, 2004 @ 11:00pm · 1 Comments |