Works and inspiration vanished from their fingertips

Gone but never deceased

Heavy hail with heavy hearts of many lovers

True but never believed

The crimson oil dripping from mirrors

Many must remember

The secret day for an evil rite of passage

The tears shining with every burnt ember

Many now scowl at the sound of opposition

The sound of mistrust, uncertainty, and lies unforgotten

But what if they could just deceive

To only leave us dead and rotten

Belief is what holds the lies to a holt

Hold the hardships, histories, heavy hands of a hundred

Since belief will never die with all innocent

They must live through the thunder

They live through the pain, ruby and heat

But since a day of truth, they all can feel again