Mochasmon

And in this dark harvest of season My life has completely lost reason, For which or against to decide. All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide In sadness and in kindness In light and in darkness. In a boat made of hope I shall sail to tomorrow, In a winding hurricane Made of treachery and sorrow. There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear... Piercing, slashing though my head. Starting somewhere in heaven, Ending somewhere in hell. Fighting, burning, crying, crashing. Are the armies within. In my head they are all thrashing. On the heaven's and hell's whim. To be light or to be darkness. A perpetual array. It's not merely my choi