The blue moonlight glares upon the forest
Like a cold frosty curse from above
Dead leaves on the trees make no sound
When falling to the icy soil

Lilith walks
On the path
A dim light
Somewhere in the middle
Of cold polar night

Shimmer of the candle in the forlorn cottage
He lies far away from the pain of consciousness
She creeps near the window
Her breath evaporates the glass

A smiling face in the cradle still asleep
Young life fading, blood flowind away
Demonic, pure narcissistic
The triumph of death