Remember my child,
Don’t cry until the time,
When crying is the wild.

The wolves shall sing,
And the owls hoot,
Until the night, they bring.

The night shall hide the tears,
Of your day’s guilt and sorrow,
And tells you of your fans’ cheers.

For that’s what the night was made for,
Be it made for the all of the crying,
Because crying can make you cherish more.

Of its daughters and sons,
There be the quiet creatures,
That a singing creature shuns.

The insects, the moon,
And all of the others,
Is what the dark can cocoon.

Then the night after such,
Remember, it doesn’t, your tears,
Even if they might have been much.

And when the morning dawn,
Better you shall feel,
As you no longer are the (k)night’s pawn.

But remember my child,
Don’t cry until the time,
When crying is the wild.