The crescent was red and transition was dying

For an instant forgotten and my moon would be gone

The night was resplendent and today was incessant

I closed my eyes and my crescent was gone

Who is he, who extinguishes fire?

It is I, It is me

Who is she, who resolves in devotion?

It is you, It is me 



History's ever and the patterns are ceaseless

Recurrence's my sentence and failure's my crop

I vanquish myself with a sword of abortion

Thence torpid I rest in miscarriage alone

Who is he who ruins desire?

It is I, It is me

Who is she who awakens the fire?

It is you, It is me