the wind will sing softly upon the earth of the dying rejoice
to frolic gracefully upon the warmth of the sun
is this madness, or sheer brilliance?
and its voice is like shards of glass
opening a new dawn of decay.

and we shall wither to the ground
too frail to uphold our stance
the forest shall die as they continue in their autumn rejoice
and with it, the life which once grew

how dare it bare this upon its melancholy shoulders?
yet, it seems unstoppable
with time, things will change
whether a spout of joy be brought or die trying

dare they fight, hope, and pray?

perhaps its wrath is gentle, although forceful
rising its ugly head to us
we bow before it
and wither upon its sinful touch
though surely the sun is dying behind the clouds

for some power truly deceived
a crude injustice

night has fallen, and all is still
not a stir, not rustle
upon the dead earth
the moon frowns upon us
the blood which does not stir

for it has been plucked of life upon these trees
yet we shall wait here
yet you are surely crude
and we shall rejoice once more

our pain is risen
...live on...