The Symphony Of The Banished

Broken strings of a lonesome lyre,

Once full of hope and a haunting desire,

Comes together for a final transpire,

Dressed in the most heavenly attire, 

Looking lovely on the cusp of the pyre,

Embracing a malevolent yet majestic fire.

The price of each phoenix tear,

One final tune to be played for the ear,

The strings begins to move, the tune is clear,

O heavens, listen to these chants of sear,

The final battle cry, to all those dear,

Who stabbed the soul, for greed and fear.

The melody echoed through each generation,

It broke the barrier of time and dimension,

Whoever heard this, danced in emancipation,

Life itself rejoiced this trill, motif and celebration,

Little did they know the lyre's Lamentation,

The sin's manifestation, the tears of jubilation.

It's time for this melodious harmony to die,

The final breath, beneath this sky,

All the memories will soon pass by,

Leaving behind and heartfelt lullaby,

A hymn of agony, a yawn, a drowsy sigh,

Arose a new dream, as the veil covered the eye.