Shadows swallow daylight.
Stars plaster the pitch black sky.
The moon hangs in the vault of heaven.
Silence fills the still city.
Darkness paints fear on the faces of children.
Sleep drowns the sin away.
Dreams conquer the minds of innocents.

The Angel of Death walks upon the lonely, arctic streets.
His pale hand grasps the handle of the scythe,
Feet grazing the earth beneath him.
Jet black wings encased by the shawl draping on his back.

The Angel of Death wanders through the field of carved stones.
A family crowds around an engraved masterpiece.
Tears absorbed into the greenery below their soles.
A foreign voice seeps through Death’s presence:
Why must Death seize her soul?
No one on this realm loves him.

The Angel of Death takes all His children’s words to heart.
Death responds, knowing he will never be heard:
I live in a world of solitude.
His secret forever concealed from us:
When your spirits blend with the twilight,
You will understand
I am the cold, painful truth.