Death Comes Unannounced At A Strange Hour

The wicked winged satire on optimism
Is placing its claws on our jaws
And leading us astray
In the arms of death.

Any moment we die is the sacred hour
There is no hope, no soup to turn sour
Hope comes with black wings that devour
The little lost girl hopes for the strange hour

We bring the mist of hope in this world
Through the event of our birth
And live in perpetual despair.

Hope for the forests of the night
The dead night, that sleeps
In the calm of its existence.

“We got our final vision by a clap”

Embrace the gloom,
This night we shall swim
To the kingdom.
Not with hope
But with wine.