Trembling,
trembling,
hands wept with fear,
as another night drew near.
Beckoning,
beckoning,
voices from beyond our sight,
calling on threads of frigged fright,
call on us for deliverance from the night.
Whispering,
whispering,
in nocturnal blight,
tell us of those born into passion and fury,
tell us of those weary and weak,
tells us of Kings bold and meek,
Bishop bears down upon pawn,
and the world will roll into dawn...
Crying,
crying,
night nearly gone,
you rob him of his youth,
passing time from which you grow,
hidden in shadows from the truth,
your deed is now done,
time to vanish, time to run...
and beat that eastern glow,
of another rising sun...
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