The world was once one of shadow,
silent and lacking a strong voice.
The rain was the only sound in the silence.
Nothing could break the cold heart of silver,
not even the offer of innocent love.
If nothing was inside, then there was nothing to lose.

But there was always something precious to lose
in the grim and tireless lands of shadow.
If only the heart could have learned to love.
There was a hint of danger in the voice,
like a flash of silver
before the ensuing silence.

Why was there such a tender silence?
What was there to protect? What was there to lose?
The face was a stone of silver,
filled with a myriad of darting shadows.
Was there a secret buried beneath that lilting voice?
Perhaps it was a secret of a tragic, lost love.

If only there had been an understanding sort of love,
which could have shattered the silence
with a beseeching voice.
The emptiness was safe, and to lose
it would mean leaving the shadow,
and forgetting the comforting, cold blade of silver.

A melody that rang like silver
echoed from the depths of love.
It danced within the thick shadow
and banished the stifling silence.
The only possession left to lose
was the fervent voice.

Now, there is an unique voice,
one that isn’t as cold as silver.
It gives a person hope, and doesn’t lose
the sensation of aching, burning love.
There is a new strength filling the silence,
and there is no need for the pressing shadow.

The shadow’s misleading voice has dissipated,
along with the silence of the silver blade.
To lose this kind of love would send a soul into obscurity.