If I could be carried upon the air
twirling and flying, and wave at the moon...
Death was calling him to it's lair
But the pain wasn't more than he could bare...
Slowly the mind is drenched in so called engulfing...
The pain drives many to be deprived into lasting...
In the dead of night, into darkness I slip
The devil's vines pull me into my nightmares grip...
He wakes to find his spirit bound
to a broken glass in rooms of ether...
I've been through the bad lands
I'm now afraid of man's hands...
Pomengranate pulp
Stains delicate virgin's flesh...
" To who loses him nothing
To who wins him nothing...
Open my mind to the words
That I have chosen not to hear...
Death is in the air,
It looms as if a fog...
The Cheshire Cat has a best friend,
Almost like little old Alice, you see...
Impatiently waiting for his message to appear
Hoping that this time her meaning was clear...