This Raven has lost his way, this alley of blackish rain, so veer at the outside world, a world too cruel for words, at lightspeed the walkers circle around him, where glass masks, and wearing black robes, every voice is screaming from these crowded hallways, these empty rooms, the vacant faces from a hallow home, the lonely entities displaced over a dial tone, and the static of signals and symbols sent in through the blur of antenna towers, the world is too dark to fly south for the winter, so this lonely, shell is the statue, the slave to the black box, the home of heartache and mastication, the monogamy and content with fear, the wind has paused, and in subzero temperatures, his feathers froze, this will be the winter eternal, observe the ashes, from the charred soil grows a rose, emitting a warmth, summer will extinguish this winter, every frozen figure will thaw, and emerge from the breaking ice, suddenly the dark doesn't seem so cold...
And than the dove flies over the ruins of our childhood playground, hinting at the glimmer of hope, may a spark articulate a flood of purified water...
