IRC-Galleria

In the middle of the night
Begins the owl its hunting flight
Flying over the dark moors,
Nocturnal forests as its doors
To lonely wanderers causing fright

In this lack of bright day
Have many children gone astray
In the darkness lost their senses,
And thus dropped their defences
That's when the Reaper comes if he may

But when the time come for the dawn,
When other animals wake and yawn,
Then the fear dies from the mind -
For the nature of the sun is to be kind -
And the concious is no more the night's pawn