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, Wraitful One - I feel strong! Throw the tapestry o'er the oracles! Belong to me in 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. "Thou 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.