Born a child of the Midnight Hour

In the cradle of the night,

Tucked in, I lay 

beneath the pallid cloak

of its motherly haze.

The brazen moon 

wrapping its tender arms

around my drowsy face.

Like a silver eye in the passing sky

Its tranquil gaze to hypnotize

every fiber of my mind.

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From the fluttering sea of stars,

I shall build an altar

And raise a shrine

What lies idle among the ashes of time,

The evening waltz of my dreams

soaring up like sacred temples from ancient grounds

Amidst the trembling shadows of the nightfall, borns a religion 

Praised be the darkness of its vision

of most deepest devotions.

The billowing sky

Dressed in its finest robe, black as smoke

Beyond the swelling horizon

flutters in the earth-bound heaven

through which the corpses of galaxies leak

The hymn of the darkest hours,

I chant and sing

Worship the mystical silence

that surge my veins 

To summon its name

like a hound in the wind

Before the nocturnal chorus bleeds into day.

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