He is the song that silence sings,
an empty echo in the deep.
Of love and sorrow he is wrought,
blood from his broken wings do seep.

The world of men is not for him,
and heaven wants him not.
betrayed and broken, left for dead,
for both worlds had he fought.

The ink that issues from his tears,
from his soul he did pry.
To write the story of his fall,
see the shadow angel cry.

Behold the face of death and sigh,
upon wings of darkness, fall and die,
for whom the bells of heaven ring,
hear the shadow angel sing…