...and all is well

it's nine o'clock and all is well
the light departs with ringing bells
sounding through the hollow city
asking for signs of deity
with dusk the creatures of the night
spread out upon this horrid sight
the shadows crawl and raid the land
the light still tries to make a stand
yet quickly fades and then concedes
and darkness on the shadow feeds
and all is still and quiet and
yet something lurks and hides within

it's ten o'clock and all is well
storytellers to children tell
of wild beasts that come at dark and
long-toothed animals that hearken
when called to by the evil hearts
of men who know nothing of Dark
the tellers watch the children fright
and look around into the night
to watch for beasts they cannot see
and pray to live in bravery
they pray the Lord their souls to keep
and hesitantly go to sleep

it's eleven o'clock and all is well
darkness surrounds like witch's spell
the creatures come outside to play
to hunt, to kill, to rule their way
they laugh because the light is gone
their home, the darkness, ever strong
they spread and feed upon the night
they're free because there's no more light
they're ready now to make their stand
take position, await command
it's now too late to make amends
when given word... the War begins

it's twelve o'clock and Hell breaks loose
you try to scream but it's no use
the wolves of Light and the wolves of Dark
destroy the field and make their mark
of fire as the vile rabid rodent
swarm dares to leave behind the hint
of fear of which their foe catches
the fragrence before it reaches
the battleline where swords are met
with claws and fangs and every debt
is paid in full with reflected pain
a world they gave, received again

it's one o'clock, existence shakes
sanity falters before it breaks
psychotic minds of shadow's light
and light's darkness and deadly bite
of rabid legions invite the start
of corrosion of your blackened heart
that beats no more in a hollow chest
with fear of death we fail the test
and still the battle rages on
how long before the War is done
both armies fear the other side
yet no one cares of those who died

it's two o'clock and you can't breathe
the lakes of blood begin to seethe
boiling over, spreading dark hate
across the land in molten fate
the world shakes and starts to crumble
the darkness begins to stumble
it starts to fall, yet holds its ground
a War goes on without a sound
the frozen cries of misery
the tortured scream of agony
produce no sound that we can hear
just repercussions of their fear

it's three o'clock, the Spirits slide
the wounded have no place to hide
creatures from imagination
bring upon annihilation
skeletal warriors fall down to dust
cry out in anguish as they fail their quest
before your eyes the air gets hot
the creatures curl up, die and rot
it's three o'clock and all is well
except for rotted corpses' smell
the shadows slither finding fear
they die and then they disappear

it's four o'clock and all is calm
the storm has passed, the Earth is gone
now nothing takes this vacant spot
infinity, the smallest dot
this emptiness takes over space
and all is gone without a trace
the silence echoes in my head
and thankful that the world is dead
not light nor darkness fills my eye
need not to worry, but to die
it's four o'clock, the Spirits fell
it's dark inside, and all is well . . . .