You asked me why the moon weeps for the black sea so cold and cruel.

Why the forests sing songs of crimson spring?

Why the heavens fall for the spurned sinner whose lips drip with the charcoal of smooth sadness?

Why the wolf’s solemn howls set ablaze to the dark winter valley?

I don’t know why; 

Maybe the buds yearn for the bright yellow daytime rains.  

Maybe the divine knows the sorrowful sacrifice of the damned’s last heartfelt goodbye.

Maybe, just maybe the wolf knows that when the sun rises he’ll stand alone in that valley.

But, let me ask you

With your hands clasped so soft and shaking, your breath hollowed and sweet.

With this dark starless night shrouded and quiet waiting ever on.

With the crackling flames lighting your dark violet tears.

That before you go ask me, one last time;

Why does the moon weep for the black sea, so cold and cruel?