The Woods Of Fate
The moon ponders the red tragedy of it all.
Refrigerated dew drops feel tragic oppression.
Will the moon linger in the sun’s laughter?
Sullen weeds are the blight of the tombstone.
A banshee stands on a hill, whispering into the wind.
Frozen water waits beneath the pointless fear.
Heavens delight is a forest of destiny.
Angels hover over the twisted tree of time.
Refrigerated dew drops feel tragic oppression.
Will the moon linger in the sun’s laughter?
Sullen weeds are the blight of the tombstone.
A banshee stands on a hill, whispering into the wind.
Frozen water waits beneath the pointless fear.
Heavens delight is a forest of destiny.
Angels hover over the twisted tree of time.