It's all this reeking ego craves. The sun to never set. Why do threads of anger never linger?. Why does the ember turn to stone?. To where the longing goes.
You are all that matters. In my private demonology. Those who fear us now. The sons of wishes. The bastard child of dream. Enemies of hope. Let it be gone.
Wings of fire burn the night, night. Slumbering eyes their flares shall greet. Let the past cling on its futile self. And may the present rush for the future's glare.