It's not the river that flows,
but the water.
It's not the years that pass,
but we do.

Between wind and water,
between the devil and the deep blue sea,
we hope for comfort from the beyond.

We call forth spirits anxiously
to tell us that our world will last
or tell us there's a place to stay
when the universe is lost
and paradise so far away.

The dawn of Doom will unveil
the unknown from the other side.
Those who walk the shadows,
those who walk the night.

Ravens and rats, crows and bats,
sent ahead as their myrmidons,
tell of darkest times to come.

To be continued...