Flames from the lit candle standing alone. It's fights the darkness, yet it knows that it cannot win.
Evening whispers carried by the wind, fill the room and leave their echo. Whispers, silent speech about the day, and days passed; mostly rumors that never last.
Flames dance, flicker, flash! Cut the shadows, everlasting gash. Strive for the light, the hearts so pure, and yet they're never safe from evil's lure.
Whispers come…and they go, with the wind's gentle flow. We no longer hear the fragment, the faint echo.
The shadows begin to creep at the flame's last breath, spreading like wild fire at the time of death. Darkness thrives where light sleeps. [/COLOR]