It is I who writes in the scarlet ink of passion
I scrawl words in the warm glow of the dying sun
Scarlet rays comfort me
This October eve...

This is how I spend my evenings
after being spit out by the day...
Countless hours of being lost and denying my fall...
Trying to resist the enticing void of self-denial
yet failing in it all...

I'm absorbed in dreamworlds,
dimensions unknown,
dwelling in the shades of sorrow,
the daylight now gone,...
This dying day,
I embrace the obscure
outside the moon rises
a thick mist caresses the scenery...
drifting towards night shores

My lids start to tremble and fall in demise...
My head spins
The realm of sleep opens its doors...

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