The Dawn of Winter

Commemorating sickle moons
The pack are poised to reap
A scythe of white roses in bloom
Whose twisted thorns will keep
A crown upon a dead man
Daylights crucified in sleep
And lives that hide in scriptured lies
To the memories of a scream

And we shall dance amid the ruin
As Adam and Evil
Dizzy at the falling stars
That burn fiercer in throes of upheaval!