The waking fears pass the hour,
cloaked in their scarlett haze...

An un-shown face and twisted letter,
Leading down a darkened hall...

Life’s a pity, life’s a pain,
were players in this fateful game...

A name taken from existence,
to hide a persons given face...

The morning breaks on snowed in streets,
the first light with my window meets...

For life is our art and art is itself,
a mirror of truth a changing for best...

When we try...
when we TRY to write...

The world is our oyster,
the world is our dream...

And as this lifes takes its strain,
we force our minds back...

I stutter first,
"Now i remember...

Evergreen pines like strong cedars,
collect the snow and hang...

Wake not these prisoners,
they know not there tourment...