The season is wilting

and the fevers rise

while the mind is facing a scythe

Standing enchanted

by a pallid shine

of the grand long-lasting night

Darkness is hunting

the remaining hopes

and fiercely handing out ropes

Epiphany moments

will not pass us by

as the tempest sweeps our cries

The tempest is raging

We’re fading away

Revolving around the crumbling sphere of our very existence

The rain over us has turned into foul and acrid dust

Making towards the soft embrace, a mere mirage in the distance

The absence of youth has left all poor souls scarred and lost