A point in life where every innoccuous thing, Is taken to offense.
A point in life where every light is muted, Except for the moon.
She speaks in the night from the cold quiet sky, To the minds which only come alive in the dark.
Where all dark thoughts throng together, Shut in a numb, turbid brain.
Where every venerable act, Falls to the eddies of the hurricane of the hell in our minds.
And Charon prepares for us a special vessel, he leads us to our own fire and frost.
While we sway in the river, We are branded with every melancholy moment that echoes through our minds.
We become lost in the pounds while the black smith beats on our iron skin, Forging us into our own connoisseur of pain upon our pasts and futures.
Although we see that every light is muted and every sound is extinguished,
There is still hope.