Sightless Anathema
“The sightless anathema mightn’t be washed,
For the Signum is nothing, but a hogwash,
Naught can heal his sight,
But your love for him just might.
Even so, a dead eyesight,
Shan’t ever win the fight,
A body that doesn’t belong in the daylight,
Will do nothing but slowly blight.”
A cackle from the darkness follows.
“The joy mightn’t last,
For that his body rots fast,
His soul in this world is an outcast,
Due to your dead hand of the past.
Sing your goodbyes,
Hitherto he dies,
He shall finally return to skies,
When the four moons rise.
But fret you shan’t,
A prosperous life and,
A beautiful sprog will be your only grant,
For this is rightfully your land.
His dead soul doesn’t belong here. His body will crumble and perish away.”
(By: Hyperionova on Sightless Anathema)
