The calendar loses a precious page
The remaining months gather to mourn
The mourners play a melody of rage
While the eleventh moon quietly sworns.
The chrysanthemum withers and falls,
To lie on the ground beside bloody Scarlet Eyes
Of a man that darkness enthralls,
The man surrounded by misery and lies
Enjoy the interlude, search out new allies
For you are a man who was always alone
Who has lived life on the roll of a dice.
