September ashes, dying light,
They're blown away into the night,
The memories of fruitless arts,
And scattered leaves of summer hearts.

O cry a dream of lunar grace,
Reflected 'pon your lover's face,
They fade, they pass, the ones you've kissed,
They wander lost in autumn mist.

An hour of wolves and bloodied ground,
The grief of ages will compound
To scorch the sky with mournful clouds,
And lay our souls in tattered shrouds.

September ashes, growing cold,
Recall the tears of tales untold.