Sparks that fly around the heart, the angel’s shriek of death,
swordpoint hews the final truth from that last dying breath.
Again, the sun ascends its peak, the moon hangs bright and strong,
never grieve for power lost, silence the mourning song.
The shining lights are doused too soon, the plague allowed to grow,
brighter burning candles are the first ones set to go.
As bitter and impassioned as the loud are wont to be,
the vengeful keep their distance and in silence they are free.
But no, the shifting cards are focused so on perfect form,
a little lie is cut and shuffled into the open storm.
Demons are beheaded and their blood is sucked away,
their ghosts drift silently, unseen, ignored for another day.