The Evening Song:
A Prelude To Night.
Charles D. O'Connor III
The suns' orange and yellow glow begins to fade;
Dropping lifelessly behind a mass of black clouds,
No more will it shine on a lively scene,
But become simply a weak and passing dream.
The flower scented air now grows rancid and stale;
Capturing evil from thousands of demons sickly gleams,
And passing it down to us in a torrent of ghastly screams.
People hear them and dash franticly away,
Hoping to escape thoughts protruding from their slime ridden pasts',
These thoughts continually shake around death stars,
Praying to awaken pain,
Creating a feast eating sanity from the brain.
And finally when the night has been announced,
Sharp organs pulse madly some distance away,
An old man now stands fearlessly outside;
A coffin by his side,
He drags his body inside and buries himself in earths cold hard clay,
Never again to witness the passing of another day.
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The Evening Song: A Prelude To Night by Thegravehill