to dream the death of the last star
a true arrow to heart
none shot ever more straight and true
from one without eyes to see
guided by chance's decaying hands

to dream the death of the last star
a driving force for the madness of many
for once the arrow drains the heart
it leaves only the blackest of scars
in place of the blood to quiet the soul

alone they stand before the fire

for if the archer is blind
the observer is impartial
the one to watch you die

and o how they weep
upon a face inevitable
so illusive they stand
convinced, betrayed

and when dreaming the death of the last star
their suns shall split wide open
to drain of every last drop of light
like an arrow to the heart

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