The wind blows hard, the darkened night,
Scavenging for food, avoiding the light;
Few survivors, in the blistering cold,
Gaiting for acceptance, but unsold.
The Gale increases, the fallen sight,
Edging for equilibrium, no goodnight;
Scant survivors, in the mythical gold,
Crawling for redemption, but unsold.
The maelstrom is immense, Godly might,
Begging for Absolution, mankind's plight;
Sole survivor, unaware of the old,
Squirming for existence, but unsold.
