Fading light, before midnight,
Coming forth, like a blight.
Creeping slower, as light is far,
Not a twinkle, from a single star.

Bloody moon, rises soon,
At the apex, of night's noon.
Crimson aura, of distaste,
Fading hope, with dooming haste.

Bloody flakes, silently fall down,
As they gobble, the whole town,
As it vanishes, in the crimson light,
At the strike of midnight.

Chilly winds, howling of sins,
Carving trees as weather veins spin,
Calling forth, the dead of night,
Dragging all light, out of sight.

Midnight's beats get to twelve,
Into morning we slowly delve,
Midnight's first minute, coming on,
Slowly closing to the dawn.

Night is darkest before light,
And darkness will lose it's fight.