The night moves me.
Like the ocean\'s tear.
The Owl looks onwards.
The avenue paints the truth
in canvas blank plague.
My castles in the clouds.
Out-seeker the wind north.
How did the Sun sting?
With a thousand roses abloom.
A tale told of a hundred nights.
She tells, of the nature silent.
With the wind forgotten.
And the moon\'s chill; her stories
told in the silent cherub tomes.
Did you look into the Gargoyle\'s tale.
Worship the night.
Redeem the silver throne.
The dancing harlequin in the stone dress.
With the plaster mountain a hundred eyes.
The frozen tusks of dooms, storied the
hundred lakes.