Stories Hence

All of our songs and stories are written to hold the shadows at bay but each evening long dark arms unrelentingly slink across the land ever so slowly and inevitably they blossom out of the receding light Their arrivals are foretold prophets penned of their ashen fingertips that cast our fleeting moments into dusk our theaters of light to shade and our pain and sorrows to silence A loud clamoring presents itself shouts and screams fill the air thickly louder and louder it grows until the clamoring yields to a crescendo of cries and prayers unanswered they slam up against the encroaching shadows as though to ward off their inevitable arrival A fool's errand For the night alone bears silent witness and scribes solemn and eternal testament to the beauty of all ephemeral things "Alas, such endings must come for you see all things do perish and all things inexorably decay" And in just this way we arrive to write our songs and stories filled with beautiful new beginnings of art and love and hope and joy pages and pages hence that hold the shadows at bay