When Darkness falls and the cold stillness of the night settles in,
What do you whisper to the shadows?
When the walls close in around you,
When your loneliness draws around you like a cloak of despair
And all you have are the echoes of your heart?
What wild thoughts prance around in your raven head?
Like the last drops of snow falling too late to lay with their kin,
You are alone in your empty room with your empty thoughts.
Does the silence bring to thee any comfort?
Lost inside yourself, can anything sooth your torment?
When you weep ever so sweetly
Do the shadows answer back to the silent tears?
Does the sound of their falling
Take your mind away from the monsters in the corner?
You are the giver of Hope, yet, keep none for yourself.
Do you think your pain lends you beauty?
Your magnificence is failing,
Your flesh being consumed and your mind- rotting.
I sang a song for you but it was drowned out by your screaming.
Crimson Lady, your life seeps away like puss from a wound.
Sitting in the darkness you have created for yourself.
The minutes are endless, going on and on,
Grains of sand to your pity,
You are trapped for all Time in your endless nightmare.
Have you no Hope? Must you blind yourself to life- with tears?
In your heart now, the truth finally dawns.
Wretched are you, bitter and anguished. Full of despair.
The pain you hold onto drags you down
Like a weight around your neck,
Drowning you in your own sea of crimson.
When the woe takes over your mind
And your will is utterly spent,
What words will you cry out into the night?
What will emerge from your fiery pit of emotion?
When your spirit finally breaks and your body is broken-
What song would you have them sing for you?
How many tears would you have them cry?
Your beauty fading would be as summer days with winter nights,
Like a bird with no song.
Too late would come the questions that were never uttered,
Too late would they notice that the Crimson Lady sat in her room,
Like a wounded animal huddled in it?s cave.
They would hear the tears but, alas...! Too late,
For they are only dying echoes wandering the walls.
It is then that they would say:
"How did we not see?
Oh poor, silent Crimson Lady,
How did this come to be?"
When your life ends on a cold starless day,
You will never know how much you were wanted,
Wanted by me...