The silent moments are eternal,
In this void construction of stone.
The lost prayers are echoing to hell,
Yet there are still supporters to yell.
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Though the skies were dark,
Even when rain flooded Heaven,
The sacred statues could watch
The desperate and holy march.
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The city outside was soundless
As the believers were gathered inside,
The gray walls were then marked,
With smoke of flames till dusk.
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The crosses were melted,
And the bodies were covered by mist.
Intelligence and god were absent.
And the sorrowful sacrifice had ended.
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The small city in the forest
Had no more but one,
One lonely inhabitant,
Dressed in black, yet with a cross.
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With no rush, but with patience,
He made a graveyard, for the lost.
With eagerness he buried them all,
Though he was unwelcome.
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