I feel that I am married to these words by memory, drawing to this finale; and through its harm I obsess over my disquiet. I have bounded in this strand of melody, this line which paces neglect which too balances on a rock face. I m trapped therein, between the worlds that bind me, until I am no longer of Heaven or Hell.
(When I unfold the sky embraces me, bringing with its chill)
Here this poor angel flies upon its wind, with the rattle of man and the theories of the already dead. Half-dead as though it seems I am one of them. The damned consume my thoughts and have persuaded my subconscious to leave. Now I find myself with a concussion of beliefs that hover and surround me, and I find I reason with the devils I was meant to keep.
(My eyes burn in red through its symposium)
This synergy of light and life opposing such dark as the night-shade requires the strength of an infant. This rare tier of persuasion wrestles with Earths disguises shaping my temptation. I pray as I weep and so I end, leveled of my harmony within my pocketed wings.
(Abused by fear and mottled an orphan)
The dew of mortality forms a wreath around my neck, and its smell is as daunting as my cradle. My surer eyes peruse through the sky for my crypt, but all I see is plunder. With rain and thunder blaring I digress, driven by this tempest into hiding.
