Beyond the Black and Gray

Look and see the humble ones, who've fixed their hearts which once were lost. They drag their feet with broken heart, and in their sack-cloth, fall apart. With ash on cheek these souls walk on, dragging, dragging, feet on rocks.

These we call the souls of white.

Now look and watch the falling ones, tripping, stumbling, on sinful rocks. Their sack-cloth rendered, cheeks been washed, they trip some more and count their loss.

These we call the souls of gray.

Finally, here, within their trench, see the fallen, wicked wretch; who count their sins and love their fate, though uneasy in their blackened state. They see the ones dawned sack-robes, and cry for mercy, and their woes. And now they crumble from their form, and watch the gray ones, full with scorn; for they know the only aid from here is ashy cheeks and broken heart.

These we call the souls of black.