Crimson Heavens

Sweet is the song of a woeful heart
Bitter is it’s tune;
Wrapped with a cloak of solitude
In the arms of the weeping moon.

Parched are the lips of the woeful heart
Weak and ever-pale,
And still in no cup shall it drink,
No liquid shall it sip.

The crimson eyes of the woeful heart
Is filled with bloody tears,
Of rage and sorrow and bitterness
Collected through the years.

Death is the wish of the woeful heart
It cries for its release
From the cruelty of the world it lives
To lie, forever in the land of bliss.