Under the towering edifice of the tyrannical heartless castle,
in the thick darkness of the old forgotten dungeons,
between the dingy, moldy, appalling walls,
the lonely forlorn souls still live and breathe.
Still live and breathe the very faint stream of air,
that managed to escape the rusty barred windows and doors.
In the dimly lit neglected vaults of oblivion and abandonment,
the eternal home of lonely souls always remains.
Behind the rusty bars of unbearable desolation and gloom,
resides the permanent prison of lonely hearts.
The unalterable place that never change,
between the cutting edges of the plaintive days and the melancholy nights.
The sad days of the solo wailing in the inescapable confinement of the spiritual ostracism.
The spiritual alienation in the barren land of the screaming mournful nights.
The melancholy nights that cut deep through the hearts of the lonely ones,
and throw their bleeding pieces into the arid and scorching desert.
Throw their remains to the hyenas of the dreadful furious excruciating nights.
The ferocious beasts of darkness that prey on the despondent and vagrant souls.
The wandering souls who roam the ruins of this cold world,
seeking the warmth of the sweet whisper of the soothing kindness.
The comforting goodness that can isolate the dejected souls away from the bitter cloudy winter nights.
The lonely nights that can penetrate the souls with their poisonous piercing sadness.
The chronic toxic sadness that took the form of rusty bars.
The imaginary rusty bars that are able to keep the dejected hearts into their spiritual imprisonment forever.