Various versions of night
Are now wielding twisting diabolical deeds
Of good. Our heroes are plucked
From their perch, ripped away from us.
Light has depleted, mostly faded,
And even the shadows own shadows.
I covet mercy. Is there none?
Wicked in rust, withered faintly from murderous use.
Fear, hate guileful blades
Shed in gloom our stride.
Taken aback we beckon to a dying hope.
Our simple flesh is left to cower
In the path of the saber of our foe,
The long claw of silver grim.