Day kills the night and night devours the day.
All that is living must soon pass away.
All shapes of beauty are drawn to death’s mouth.
The carnival is over when the lights go out.
The long night is coming.
The cold hand draws near.
The watcher at the edge of time is laughing at your fear.
You think that there’s beauty, you pray that there’s hope.
The sum of creation a cruel, cosmic joke.
The old gods once watching have long ceased to care.
The souls of the living will all be lost out there