Every night is like a night

But subtle as a shade

Eavesdropping the silent conversations

Between two dead saints

A hail crowning the frog

Supposed to be independent

From his mother moon

Cursed the black tongue with mist

Pink famish ruling the swamp

Where the flies devour the lions

And mosquitoes tiptoe through the night

A heart that is broken walks

Swift wind freezes the wound

No more blood will be spilled

No more hate will be spared.