Silent is the cold night on despair and trinity,
Casts its boundless shadow with omen on its wings,
Whispers of dead and things long gone,
Echoing through its hollow halls and shallow graves.
What more shall the timeless souls desire,
Certainly will the gift of eternal please those who seek it,
But doubtful I am as I observe all those yearning for it,
Nevermore shall the virtue of man see light whilst in pursuit.
