Planning is futile and devoid of suprise
But no plan is perfect
And prefection is rarly seen
Complete and utter failure keeps rising
Smashing all
Resolving a ray of resonating light to splinters

From a whole holiday to a stumbling farce in moments,
Burnt to a wavering cinder,
Solid until touched,
Then nothing except a gray film falling to earth
Staining fingers,
Leaving an unseen trace to posion al will

So come what may it shall not quiver
Or fade inside and remain hidden,
Demons don't die,
They re-surface, buring for the long fall,
Till eternity, 
Lurking within shadow, they strike and reap there reward

In the end it always falls to pieces,
The course of action is serverd, 
Without a trace of reason,
Those in its wake are reduced to spectres, 
Gaunt faced, 
Roaming a land of stained whites,decayed greys and overpowering darkness