Mikl Moose

I used to really not like rainy days.
They made me unhappy in multiple ways.
Gray and gloomy and just not much fun.
But that was back when I could play in the sun.
The days are long past, me not liking rain.
The Grayness and wetness no longer bring pain.
I have learned through the years how not to feel down
when the Grayness encompasses all of the town.

I find it refreshing when I can’t see clear skies,
for the sun burns my skin like it once did my eyes.
It instantly hits me; feels like I’m on fire.
Similar problem as that of vampire.
But I am no vampire, this I can swear;
There’s another reason their fate I must share.
It all begins when I was a bit younger.
The Grayness set in, and then so did the hunger.

The Grayness, you see, is not rain, mist or fog.
It encompasses the spirit of the bog.
It is all that is dusk, and all that is gloom.
It fills you with feelings of dread and of doom.
It’s not at all like weather, but more like a creature.
It will show you the end, will be your greatest teacher.
You will learn about life, and also of death.
It will show you the worst, and then your last breath.

You see, rain’s not just water falling from the sky;
It’s the life of each person that’s going to die.
It’s the death of each person who’s died in the past;
That’s why it comes in and it falls really fast.
I had the misfortune of being caught in the rain.
The Gray stole my soul and ended my pain.
It ended my days as I knew them before;
Moon became my sun, and sun was no more.

I cannot feel pain; I cannot feel love.
I cannot see rain falling from above.
I just see the spirits as they really are.
Horrible monsters the size of a car.
For they are the Gray that you call “overcast;”
They’re here to stay for as long as souls last.
Until they can consume every last one;
Once that happens our work here is done.

We prey on the souls of the young and the old;
we prey on the stories yet to be told.
We feed on the strong and we feed on the weak,
and we’ll keep consuming ’til we reach our peak.
And when that does happen our Gray won’t remain
and we’ll become the water known as the rain.
The cycle of life and death will not stop;
Yet is all contained in every raindrop.

That’s how we’ll get you when your time is near:
“The Gray’s on its way to your town” you will hear.
But by that time you won’t be able to hide;
And we’ll take you on a terrible ride.
The ride of your life; the last ride you’ll take.
Unbelievable pain will keep you awake,
until you go crazy, and then pass away.
And then you’ll be the monster known as the Gray.