Ghostly impressions of imature love
Is all that this hate left behind.
No bliss in ignorance, no peace in death
It tears apart slowly, maddening quietly
The sweet scent of a lone gone moment.
For what makes a man can as easily break him
As the apotheosis of our time draws farther away
Oh what delightful rapture we have missed
In futures never to be spoken
In paths never to be opened.
We had now and forever and a day to slip away
The grim grace of your face, a craving phantom
A tear from your eye, the honeyed illusion.
But forever has passed us by, and to dust we turn
The ashes reclaim our lonely souls.
Your skin, the dance of a thousand aromae
Was the silk of my very last barrier
Against the cold will of your razor,
For in this instance all that remains
Is the pool of our entwined blood.
