I am a monster born of woe,
From shadows where the lost winds blow.
My cradle was the mournful night,
My lullabies, the fading light.
My skin is woven of silent cries,
My eyes reflect the stormy skies.
Each step I take, the ground will quake,
Beneath the weight of hearts that break.
I feast on tears, a bitter stream,
And wander through a restless dream.
Where laughter fades, my echoes dwell,
In hollow caves where sorrows swell.
But in the depths of what I claim,
I hold no joy, I seek no fame.
For every wound I’ve ever sown,
Has bound me to my aching throne.
Yet still I long, though I can’t show,
To shed the chains of grief I know.
For monsters born of woe can yearn,
To feel the warmth they can’t return.