In the end all must fall;
Ever heeding the siren's call.
Don't you hear it? Don't you see?
Night is not as dark as we.

Are we that bleak? I often think;
Too many times hovering near the brink
Has brought us to our breaking point;
A devil's disguise ourselves anoint.

Deep the hole; Deep the pain;
Rooted in regret, refrain,
Like a tainted crop of corn;
Row upon row, awaiting the morn.

Angels and devils above our heads;
Battle eternally while we lie in our beds.
We sleep and perilously dream;
We silently slumber, silently scream.

Shed the mask, shed the fear;
Engage not the darkness near,
Deny the dreading shadow's heart;
A nightmare; a darkened art.

We all are bleak, I often think;
One time to many at the brink,
A breaking point we saw, we held;
A devils backdrop we have felled.

In the end we all fall;
Ever heeding the siren's call,
Now we hear it, now we see;
The gates of paradise open to you and me.

© Tom Stanley