Lovely songs were sung in the light, the bright hues confused with night. Happy thrills sent through spines, lovely birds sang from pines. Skies shone their beautiful hues, dappled with brilliant blues. To most this was a great day of all, so happy, so jubilant, yet there was always a way to turn any place gray. Rippling waters, their beauty, purifying beyond belief, what a relief! All else would burn to the ground, never to be found. Love was fake, not even found in the flying doves. It marred your heart - left you dead and scarred.
Cobalt hide shown in the glimmer, the sun not daring to make it any dimmer. Stunning, excellent - the words for me, so why didn't he want to be? Here, of all places? With adoration and love, sickening abominations. A malevolent smirk he wore upon his face, sending shrieks from everyone's faces; this only made him quicken his pace. Hate, hate, it always chose his fate, daggers flailing like Isadora's scarves. Dancing, gleaming were his tresses, making the mares' hearts have stresses. Oh, but they should. Darkness was descending, and they wondered if their lives would be ending.
No, but of course not. He would never let them have that fate, after all, wasn't he still filled with hate? As he pretended to love them, they would depend on his mercy. But none he would have, and none they would get - he surely wouldn't let them forget. Oh, but the generosity in his heart, grew so thin, how long would it take before it finally gave in? Never, never! It never could, no emotion was left but his soul still stood. Conflicted by hate, brought on by pain. Love it, or die, oh my, oh my.
You just can't deny, their lightning attraction, and no one could misapply his his great power. All in all, they were alike - if she had a stag, he would receive a strike. Not to the shoulder, nor pillar, nor hull, but it would be to his small, small skull. But none, alas accompanied her, to his delight. Ah, how happy they would be without a fight. "I am Frenzy," said he, orbs filled with glee. Blood lust throbbed, as his skull bobbed. They were alike, with their darkened pelts, but what they had was not heartfelt. Waiting, waiting, why wait all the time? What he was about to do was the perfect crime.