Taste the stale night on your tired human tongue
Its darkness, ancient, as we were once young
When we were prowlers of twilight, noises in the night
Closing our eyes, tired of sight
Waiting for something, that never came
A strategy, an exit, an escape from their game
Some meaning in moon-drenched dark spaces
Staring at bored stars, with blank hearts and frowning faces
Wanderers, we, in the bland diversity of our cage
Our snarling fist declared the ancient religion of rage
Shining with arcane brilliance, with one foot in our grave
Drowning in time, with nothing to salvage or save
A tired dawn reflects bloody, spider-smeared smiles
Lost in an eternally recurring night, its miserable miles
For by the stale night, it was we, who were tasted
In this deeply profound life, meant only to be wasted.