Light of life, it seems you are losing thy war; dawn and day make a quick exit;
midnight prevails for forever more. Stars carry thy burden and mother nature;
she cannot hold its soul—you are weaker, even the crown jewels of forest falls.
Time traverse slower, beasts hide, and the air grows cold; the night is hungry;
and you, what battle cry can you forge? As a shadow of thy former self;
no one can worship a dead gods mould. Merely watching, as the dark broads.
Thy angels are crippled, nothing but dust to the wind; have you perhaps gotten old? Winter is calling; a deep roar is heard on every wall—a voice that has whispered; is now demanding that you hand over the throne. So, what will you answer petty light?
You cannot even melt what is covering the soil; you cannot even light up a home;
What is left of mesmerising colours—what is left of thy mighty sword?
Sleep little child, night has come and will stay for a while; carrying thy burden;
while you tuck away alone. Will you be remembered, or will rot to the core?

The night is thy empress, citizens of light; midnight won the faithful fight.