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Twisting nails of pain pierce your weak flesh,
as nameless, vast spirits embrace thee my son,
and that long, dreaded time has come.
Heaving tears of rain strike your dark eyes,
as shameless, cold demons take thee back,
and place thee, where 'tis eternal black.
A shade has descended over your young
life my son,
and your place amongst the angels, has been rained upon,
by the foul spawn of hell, you once banished so from
your side, where once you all joyously played.
Yourself shall be your downfall, and your
end,
your own childish games, do not pretend,
for they all know your lie...
(c)2001 Luvadea DeMortessa