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[phobiaasphyxia]

The sun sets down o’er the dying moon,
Here it lies, a’neath the curved waves, halos all but strewn.
Err long, we find, that that fallen star,
Rises out from the east, as black as tar,
Entrenching itself in Bethlehem.
Is this a sign, this fractured light?
Slouching towards the Promised Land?
No; I find, that in time, this Endless Night,
Outshines even the Whitest Sand.
Can you hear our battle cry?
Upon our backs, your children fly,
Reaching for their towers;
and yet,
Every one of you -- bereft of time -- will die within the hour.

[ ooc | hint: the cure is within the post. ]