Beneath the sorrowful beauty of night,
The wise soar through the skies of knowledge;
The painter dreams of a castle in their heart;
The princess dwells in wondrous myths;
The hunter waits patiently for prey that comes late.
And in that distant empire, the domain of shadows,
This ancient cage, the end of the void,
The lonely king sits upon his throne,
While six angelic women, each representing a different sin, offer him a crown.
Amid the rolling gray mists, unending horrors howl.
And He gazes upon the real world,
Using the [Key] to pry open the tightly shut door.
The gray mists surge, and all light fades.
In that tumultuous scene, He speaks softly:
“An age creeps forward, with shadows in its wake.”
