Inside these dark shadows of man I grip the hand of gloom. Only my thoughts release the smiles and days of sunlit dreams, for in truth, the hours of morn are as bleak as the last. Now I fear the touch of a child due to the actions of our past. Angels of mercy weep no more because the future is foretold in our creator's eyes. We angels of deception may bleed our last drop and bow to the responsibility for centuries of lies. We greet the new dawn with only a passion to hate, but these flowers are not soon to forget the promises that were captured through their fathers' ill-fated eyes. Sweet and compassionate child, may you find it in your fractured heart to hold back judgment. Your judgment of fire, and your blessings of death. Our age should dwindle in fear and rest with no hope, because these angels descend upon us on clouds of vengeance. My nightmares become life and fire becomes my skin. We can only accept this fate and bathe in the sweet waters that we've cursed with our sins. So many promises of life blooming into beauty now lay foul from our intercourse of disease. Only the tears of angels will reveal our sorrow, but they are blind to the compassion and deaf to our cries.