• So precious is the night to me
    The hopeless creature's bed
    So soon should the moon die
    So soon should I be dead

    The shunned stars forsaken
    To cross, oh so mysteriously
    To drive a sane man mad
    And act so deleriously

    What of the dead stars
    The moon's philosophy
    The sun is but a pawn
    To its own jealousy

    Mistaken like my words
    As if rising form the dead
    Still is the night precious
    This hopeless creature's bed

    A cancerous burning hell
    Leaves its mark upon your face
    Each tear a monument of pain
    Not an ode to silent grace

    Forever sting your heart
    With bitter revlry
    Unsurpassed, undefined
    The moon's philosophy

    Yet never recieve it

    Yet dare not believe it

    Yet never feel

    This life's not real

    So precious was the night
    Before you lost your bed
    The moon so soon withered
    Long since the stars were dead

    Each tear that you withheld
    To sooth an unwelcomed face
    That was your demise
    Your ode to silent grace...