At night when light is fast asleep the moon will weep. Its friend, the sun, just steals the fun. Don't cry dear moon, all will be fine - no need to pine, you'll feel the kiss of song and bliss. The sun will rise with tired eyes, to it's surprise the nights cold stings but moon now sings.
The day and his hunger filled son, feast on the night's decay. Dark rituals are spun as famine comes to play. The night and her valiant daughter, stand facing dimmer light. O' sweet moon lit slaughter may the morn end day's rite.