Nine dreams for the red king under crown of silver

Seven ravenous snakes hatched from seven menstrual moons

Three drops of gloom seeping into flesh of life

One heart of a mortal forged from the pillars of light and darkness

'Tis the very tabernacle which is long forgotten by mortal fads

'T'was once the true definition of old that kept mankind within balance.

Now they are planted into the lands of folly,

Only to dance alone to face the pestilence that they have sewn

Confronted by the easily forgotten,

Mortals sought desperately for answers that already existed

A herd's despair makes for another organized tragedy,

The falling of a moon a dire presage.

Yet the omen continues unannounced and progress will never begin.

Unresolved are the issues of self

Like a sinner prolonging his begging for a forgiveness that will never be received.

I have seen their humanity dwindling with every decade,

Their way of thinking stripped from their consciousness.

'Tis the great downfall of the human race

And their true definition must be revealed.