new poem maybe turned into sound, who knows

When the clock strikes midnight
Our demons come out and play
A mind is their world
Twisted, of their own accord
A mirror left on the wall
On display
In the back of our brain
Were we go insane
From visions of darkness
In fruitation
A desolate land
In the wind, incantations
Fill our ears with the damnation
Of the demons we rise
Taken slowly in stride
A cloud always hangs, looming over head
A scream turns to a whisper
A murder of the beholder
Left in a trail carved into stone

The demons, they falter
Under the stain glass and alter
Upon hallowed ground they dare not step
But soon they be not be worried
For the process is never hurried
The raven shall burn the remains
Of the life we once held
Some protection in a shell
Will no long exist but a name
Vitriolic and decrepit
A voice grows in a roar
Will these deeds ever be undone?
The sky begins to fade
All that remains are the remnants
Of the ruins of the cursed sun
The demons are gone, was this but a dream?
Awaken to eternal black.

i don't know if fruitation is a word(if it is cool if not there is a word thats like that and i don't know what it is)

When in doubt, sweep it out