Crowned Demon

We are artists, Muse’s children,
Bringing joy to world so bright,
But the wind has brought a demon,
Stealing all our strength and might.

None can see this wicked phantom,
None can beat him in a fray.
In a stuffy room, in silence,
We are told to waste away.

Muse is dying, hearts are weeping,
No more hope for morning sun.
Shadows of the beast are creeping,
Till the light of joy is gone.

Artists? You’re no longer needed!
Keep your silence, play no more!
Eat your meager meals, unheeded,
Breathe through rags behind the door.

Now the demon wears his crown,
Claiming all the world to rule.
Pushing every spirit down,
Muffling groans with silence cruel.

Notes forgotten, sounds are sleeping,
Only IV drips shed their tears.
But through flies and shadows creeping,
The music’s echo still appears!

Heartbeat rhythm starts its thunder,
Music rises from the gray!
Demon’s grip will tear asunder
From the home he stole away.

For we’re artists, bound together,
Power in the art we weave,
Honest thoughts will last forever,
Winning all, if we believe!

© 2026 Vyacheslav Sukhochev. All rights reserved.