It is I who writes in the scarlet ink of passion I scrawl words in the warm glow of the dying sun Scarlet rays comfort me This October eve... This is how I spend my evenings after being spit out by the day... Countless hours of being lost and denying my fall... Trying to resist the enticing void of self-denial yet failing in it all... I'm absorbed in dreamworlds, dimensions unknown, dwelling in the shades of sorrow, the daylight now gone,... This dying day, I embrace the obscure outside the moon rises a thick mist caresses the scenery... drifting towards night shores My lids start to tremble and fall in demise... My head spins The realm of sleep opens its doors...