Trees stand still in the moon lit space,
Waiting for the breeze to start their sway,
Calm, the state in which they stand,
A solace to help eyes of those begone find calm,
Deep in slumber, oblivious of silent melodies of night,
Gone to leave just memories shy.
This night will bring a difference,
when a love forbidden sprouts in a farm barren,
Burdened with cursed haunts and owl howls of night,
The caretaker in his slumber will take flight,
Confident of his weapon - instilled fear,
But, a forbidden love will sprout here.
Silhouttes will rise from the West,
Drunk, hand in hand, ready for a quest,
The quiet of the night will be strirred,
And the silence of the rested souls will be stabbed,
Doubt if they will offer a smile,
Maybe they'll put up a fight.
Forbidden love will sprout I say,
On epitaphs of the dead vows will be made,
Solemn and sacred, sealed with bites and blood,
It will be the birth of a cult,
Life from where it is snatched
They will be awakened, those whose sight taken away,
Senses restored and composure stuffed at bay,
Gliding ghosts and soaring spirits will collide,
And those who bring disturb will gloat in pride,
They'll summon the feared and raise havoc,
Pulling life from depths of Hades once sealed with chain and lock,
Maybe in their eyes fires will be spark,
And their lover's lips will know char.
It'll be a life stolen from the taker,
And he will have a right to claim it back.
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