Tempesta Scura

Bestowe upon us the crashing of waves,
Preserve the joys of a breath not yet taken.
Under pale bleeding skies we fall to our knees,
The rising dark sun cannot ease the torment
that causes us to cry out in this storm,
cry out for the grace of the changing of tides.
This black ocean of fury bears no guilt in it's rage,
tearing us from these battered shores.
Sensational bruises thrashed into our souls
as we are cast upon these rocks of torturous demise.
As we lay broken, bleeding this blood so dark,
Know but this...
In disgust of furious rage may we meet our end,
never to wake, but our thoughts echo forever
beyond this comfort of death.