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Away
as darkness climbs before my rest
the stench of death comes before my breathe
a stealing eye which stands and holds
the truth as much when your skin is bleeding cold
to one who might wonder, to one who might find
such teaming faith in colors closed, in colors so blind
no matter, or no matter still shall come of thee
for, such in truth doth reckon and swell this part of me
which bloats and sways, gently in the ocean tide
guided by this heaven's ghost and my soul to arise
from the peaking towers, to the swallow depths
inside hearts that mutter, and words which stutter
give me pleasure or give me death
as all are these words to beckon and bring me from my rest
when all eyes do come and see
this little light standing, starring, right back at me
is no longer but a guest here, inside this world of mine so long
that would tear apart waters, bodies such as mine
believe me, or believe me not, for you are in truth
not one step closer to finding that in youth
what i buried so deep, has yet to grow and flow away
from these hands that hold, this death, so quick
and so very bold
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