Label: Violin's Lament

Cold is the night, dark is the moon,

and filling the air is a sorrowful tune

descending to all of its slaughtered below,

to tattered red banners of friend and foe.

It cries and mourns every outstretched hand,

every heart, pure or cruel, that took its last stand.

And as the strings are silenced by bow,

its lone fiddler weeps, for solely he knows

that the man stained by the blood of these here,

is the fiddler condemned in his futile tears.

Sources: wondering what agony one might endure with suffering such terrible consequences for something they did

Ingredients: Depression, agony, loss, slaughter