The world was black before it was blue, before night opened up to let the greens and golds flood through. The world was dark and yet without the morals created by man and his godly creation the darkness was lord.
I think that this is where we came from. We were born from our carefree predecessors, the prototypes for not a new and unwelcome race, but for the Earth to turn over and become what it once was, not a land consisting of good and evil, but of fight and fear. Perhaps that why the silver clouds of dawn are rimmed with black, the hunters light seeping into innocence.
What are you to do when you are made of both, the eager light and the dominant dark. Each night I wake from my bed, the midnight black which paints the Earth through my window and I know that in that darkness I live, but as light was born it crept inside burning like my soul in flesh that should be shriveled and lifeless.
I no longer know, I fight for light, but light is changing becoming hard to see, to distinguish. All blood is tainted and I hunger for it more than I ever thought possible, I hunger to crush their hearts in my hands, end the constant thumping that invades my ears every second of every day, reminding me that they live and I cannot have their life.
As they succumb to this inevitable dark light to be like them, the humans, I must change also, give up my soul to the wild moon and let the star hounds laugh.
Trapped, trapped in both worlds parts of me tearing off to venture to their side, to sleep on the borders of truth and taunt each other. How many demons are inside me, how many angels, how long can a candle truly burn before the flame dies, and even as the candle represents the light and warmth of humanity it is made of destruction, an element which takes and burns, the fiery dance of hell. I suppose it fits, dark becomes light becomes dark.
I came, as I was born to live forever I came to the world and waited
I saw, as I watch now as it crumbles around me, my efforts and my soul
I conquered, how long now until the light is conquered, before the mists gather around mortal hearts and close those gates of colour once again, and finally Angelus is free.