Out spills the darkness,
First of all fears;
We shun what we can't see,
Hate what we can't hear,
Then the lust, and some jealous
Just to haunt our dreams;
Nothing is ever good,
Or so our fate will seem
'Til dawn breaks over the hill
At the end of all our time,
And at that moment He'll call:
Come my children,
You're mine.