The wicked winged satire on optimismIs placing its claws on our jawsAnd leading us astrayIn the arms of death..Any moment we die is the sacred hourThere is no hope, no soup to turn sourHope comes with black wings that devourThe little lost girl hopes for the strange hour.We bring the mist of hope in this worldThrough the event of our birthAnd live in perpetual despair..Hope for the forests of the nightThe dead night, that sleepsIn the calm of its existence..“We got our final vision by a clap”.Embrace the gloom,This night we shall swimUnannouncedTo the kingdom.Not with hopeBut with wine.