alone, our world waits, with great demise
soft and silent incantation provides
parched angelic lips long since dead, debrief,
converted by their madness' disbelief-
yet it breast beats clock work with true disguise.
this ghost agaist the ebb of time with jelous eyes
mortal flesh may bend, become cold, relief:
of such a forign object mortal grief,
its madness call to arms all those who dare
a light within cannot pierce frozen still
its unimagination is compared
surrounded: burning world without a will
yet in the presence of bring great despair
absence forever biting itching chill
yet its reward is warmth beyond compare.