Almost condescending it looks on from inside I feel strong, this day will never wither! In sorcery is my most ancient thought And I thought the sorcerer was right
It creeps behind a dusty mirror They, in an attic I dreamt of once
Flow through me again, wrathful one I feel strong! Throw the tapestry o'er the oracles! Belong to me innocence...
The shears cut cleaner than a child's first sin I chose the grave in blasphemous
It fell away a hundred times before But orisons scratched veiled glass "Though art I," says cast away And I am in an attic
I feel weak, this night will never bloom! I am I – now you're mine, my cunting child