The Gates are out of Midnight’s reach
Beyond the edge of Dawn.
Across the Dark we still must hark
And wearily trudge on.
Where nightmares tread, who guards the dead?
And from what do they flee?
For every Gate must have a Lock
And every Lock a Key.
And forged in ice before the Flame
And long before the Word
The ancient Price was swift relayed
And syllables were heard
That crooned of gain. Of desperate hope
Of Rise without the Fall
The shutters barred. The warning passed
But still sang forth the call.
The Lock, you see, is born of Chance
Despair beyond all sight
The love that wrenches soul from chest –
The scream within the night.
The hate that claws behind the eyes
To roar upon the air –
And dream of rest. It forms a Lock
So grasp it if you dare.
The Key is old beyond our ken
Beyond the Rising Dark.
We know of old its grievous price
The muffled, smothered spark.
It matters not how stern the soul
Wiped clean by timeless flood
Or all the horrors condemned to face –
It all comes down to blood.
The Gate of Darkness, free of stars
The Lock of Desperate Dreams
A Key of Blood. It’s come to this
For nothing’s as it seems.
And ancient sins at last are free
And ancient Truths will fly
The Night draws close. Remember this –
Above all soars the sky.