This quiet song cannot be sung, like to a child in their wooden crib.
These words aren't protection, they are exposure.
This soft voice is not for the gentle hums of a loved one's coos.
The night doesn't calm, as it once did; it became the haunting shadow that mocks me through the devil's hours.
No tears oh happiness here, but tears of complete pain that tires my chained soul.
A song not pure and simple, but callous and complex.
A heart once at rest, now walks the night in shadows, creaking to the midnight breeze.
The comfort and warmth of my quilt, no makes me quiver, with no warmth and no cover.
This hell is far more silent than a babe's lullaby, its a lullaby that haunts and shatters till the dawn mourns.
