Do you know the feeling?
Of the last autumn leaf?
Humbled by the chill of Frost,
Can you hear the crackle of twigs,
Upon the frozen land?
Where be the soft song,
Of the red flower,
For, hope, She provides,
That I'm not alone.
Bright yellow,
Gives way to the paleness.
Persistent are Her shrieks,
It breaks the iron will,
That hangs on to the knowledge of the prophecy,
It keeps me sane,
In a world, where,
Sanity hangs by a thread,
Shrouded in the breath of Jack.
Is there not a place of warmth?
Where I can stay,
And let heal, the wounds of old.
But first,
We must be cleansed,
We must pay the ransom,
With the currency of blood,
He demands for what is owed,
But we have fallen short . . .. .