In the dead of night, where whispers wail.
Rise a figure clad in darkness, armored in the silent night.
Forged by sorrow, in the forge of hate.
A knight who rides for vengeance, with its soul forever marred.

With every clink of metal, echoes rise and fall,
A tale of loss and fury, a darkened, vengeful call.

Hear the clanging of his armor, like the bells of doom that toll,
A symphony of sorrow in the darkness of his soul.
A specter in full metal, a ghost in the fray,
His purpose unwavering, by night or by day.

Eyes like embers, smoldering with the fires of his rage,
A spirit bound to suffering, an endless, bitter cage.
He seeks the ones who wronged him, through the tempest, through the mire,
A phantom of retribution, fueled by undying ire.

The darkness holds no secrets, from his unyielding gaze,
The past a chain of memories, alight with vengeful blaze.

Hear the clanging of his armor, like the bells of doom that toll,
A symphony of sorrow in the darkness of his soul.
Through the ruins, past forgotten thrones, where silent fates impart,
Marches the dark knight, with vengeance thrumming in his heart.

No oath or sacred bond can sway the fury of his sword,
No plea for mercy heard, no chance for wrongful souls to dance.
In the armor's cold caress, his tortured soul is held,
He is the judge, the shadows whispers its name.

Hear the clanging of his armor, like the bells of doom that toll,
A requiem for the fallen, from the depths of his control.
Through the darkness, he advances, where the end and start depart,
Marches the dark knight, with vengeance bleeding from his heart.

In the shadow of the moon, where the night becomes the day,
The dark knight rides forevermore, a legend clad in black.
May those who wake the armor-clad avenger,
Beware the silent knight, and its fury.

© Magnus Stalhart