Victims of the renaissance might screamed in the dead of night. The horror, the terror. Ruler in Machiavellian days stole all of their days away to darkness to sadness.
I still see painful eyes. I still hear distant sighs among shadows lingering on.
Gaze up high into the open sky from these halls and chambers. To the moon and to the winds I cry.
Soul's aglow in the darkest of hue miseries are still undue forever and ever. I caress the thickening air and all memories it bear with yearning and longing.
Far behind these castle walls glories and virtues fall, fall for the lunacy. Deep inside where the time weeps tyranny is fast asleep in shadows, in echoes.
Dim is the day for the grim and the grey as destiny's proven unfair. Fair as a fay is the dawning of the day at which I forlornly do gaze.
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