Moths to a flame
they fan and feather...

We blindly march
into violent battles...

Shredding butterfly wings
shattering light-hearted magic...

Head in the clouds
feet drifting off the ground...

Lanterns shine as few walk
across a frosted surfaced lake...

A beautiful doll
placed on the top shelf...

An angel weeps up above
as little ones are lead to certain death...

Pack your bags
it time to go...

Fingers trail across the floor
desparatly trapping...

Will this pain never cease?
A lump lodge itself inside my throat...

Winter's harsh hand, crushes flowers
That begin to bud, denying their bloom...

People say before this life...
We had another, a paradise...