Black spectre, pale ghost Spirits dancing in the Cold night air We were already dead. Dark star, black moon, The ovens took the Children. I saw no Angels, only grey ash falling like flakes of snow brushing against my cheek. their last embrace mingled with my tears. I tasted their innocence bitter upon my tongue. Silent spirits withered flowers, turning to shades of grey. My children burned, bright flame casting their shadow to light my way.