The darkest dawn doth call us all
to weep upon the throne.
The child lost lay still and quiet,
upon it a glimmer shone.
In trade of life at darkest hour,
in gift for which it is lost.
Would darkness' lord have began the
deed had he but known the cost.
When man plays god with power given
and then thwarts the fates.
He risks a path he would not chose,
if he but knew the stakes.
And so we mourn in darkened dawn,
before the golden throne.
While innocence serves evil and
melts all hearts of stone.