Воспоменания луны

Ask not the sun, why she says,
why she shrouds her light ring,
why she hides her glories,
when night turns crimson all to grey,
for silence falls the beauty sun,
as day to dark dusk turn,
one simple [bad word] she dare no speak,
her light can only blinden her,
no mercy for the beauty,
bring down their blinding sun,
but so silver black by night,
and on their faces faces will find,
one will bring the end,
the dawn will never ryze again.