There are no songs left to sing

There are no songs left to sing

No poems left to write

The stars avert their gaze in a sky

Blacker than the bottom of a frying pan

Wondering in deep disgust

What world is this that sleeps but never dreams?

Where are the poets and the bards?

And the lovers who once sang praise

To our beauty and charms?

Where is Selene our pregnant lady of light

On whose silver belly men pondered

The myriad mysteries of life?    

Snuffed are the beacons in the heavens above

The doom-mongers and the naysayers of the world
Speak the truth while the truth-sayers

utter blasphemous lies in the ears

Of foolish men

The crimson tide roars drenching

The quick sands of drowning innocence

Choking on its own damned fury

While cries of Kyrie eleison go unheard

In the raging abyss of darkness above

No god claims the human beast

Who rears its gruesome head

And dreams no more.