The dark stranger has appeared again,
Riding a chariot drawn by two mighty horses.
Their neighing echoes despair across the countryside.
Their thick hooves trample the sunflowers into the dirt.
Their sharp teeth bite and gnaw, even at each other,
New wounds dripping red,
Old wounds spewing ash.
They are old and powerful,
Their aged minds long surrendered to madness,
And driven to senseless destruction.
The dark stranger rides along in glee.
Does he drive the beasts,
Or is he driven by them?
He is an ancient parasite,
Hidden in the shadow of power.
Lying dormant, he waits in silence,
For the day his chariot is prepared.
Then the devourer of hope will ride.
As for us, we will turn to each other saying,
“You have summoned him!”
Pointing with accusatory fingers.
It is because our hope is already gone,
Before we’ve even realized it,
And the dark stranger rides on unhindered.
He would torment us unto death,
If he only could,
But he has brought his own undoing.
In the darkest darkness,
In the deepest depths of the night,
When the moon and the stars have abandoned us,
We realize we still have each other.
Hope abounds greatly in despair,
A hope born from unity,
A hope too great for him to stomach.