While the night goes on a slumber,

And the time goes by in number,

The owls fly and prey,

And bats get up from their lay.


What order goes on though fine,

To keep such peace in line?

That know no boundaries of such,

and tumbles on to hold too much?


The owls fly by in a frenzy,

Chasing after prey that lands on a daisy.

Though sweet a flower should smell,

like poison it kills, all and well.


The bat goes on to fly,

A meal that passes like a lie.

Beat by beat the wings retreat,

stumbling through the trees like a feat.


And while the night goes on a slumber,

And the time goes by in number,

The owls fly and prey,

And bats get up from their lay.


Though such peace is kept all mighty and fine,

Chaos ensues the park through misery and line.

One by one each bird drops dead,

And all life ends in such dread.


Still the night goes on a slumber,

And the night goes on in number.

No longer the owls fly,

No longer the bats get up from their lay.


No miracle can save such fate.

Though and try, it comes too late.

They feasted and cowered,

Dropping dead into an eternal slumber.


While the night goes on a slumber ,

And time goes by on number,

No owls fly and pray.

No bats get up from their lay.