Night swindles all the cries of fear,

Preparing them with cuts and sneers,

Yet all the tears that flow about

Are gentle cries that children shout.

_

Yet here he is, he smiles, he weeps,

The gentle roses of thorn her grips.

But don’t forget, sweet child of fear:

The tears you hold are never clear!

_

Don’t cry, don’t cry, for a devil’s sin!

Your soul forgave him with a gentle grin,

For now you crush in your gentle hands

The swindled cries tied up in fear’s demands…