The demons suffer more than you,

More than you could have a clue,

They cry at night when no one’s near,

Yet do not shed a single tear.

The demons are always alone,

Always from the seeds you’ve sown,

The crops are plentiful, the harvest sparse,

But of the demons, no one cares.

They come at night unlike no other,

Forced to turn on their own brothers,

And when one tries to hope again,

It always becomes their sorry end.

Whatever happened to those outcast,

Were always regarded as in the past,

And sadness triumphs over all,

One demon left, as I recall.

That demon was that one who suffered,

Whom the darkness quickly smothered,

And when the demon went to pray,

 It turned to dust like night to day.

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