It is deemed wise,

To stay inside and dim the lights,

When the sunset has been touched by ice.

As the lights slowly fade,

Through the fog they'll wade,

Their lonely shriek sounds thrice.

 Forests enshrouded in dark,

Mountains stand, cold, stark,

Forged by warmth that has to suffice.

When the sun starts to rise,

And sets fire to the skies,

Her reign will herald sacrifice.

Two halves of a heart, 

fire and ash.