From the recording The Black Rose
The nights are the same as the days.
The sky, a mournful overcast, hazy pale white in the day.
But even the light is dim, bleak, and mournful.
The smoke from the factories have long ago choked any beauty from the sky.
Beauty is a memory for some, for others a delusion, but for most just a dream.
I am one of the dwellers in this world of shadows.
I was born into a world with only one hope.
The Black Rose.