Grasping in the dark cold hands The voiceless phantom mythed in torn pages of a decomposing tome The pages wither like burned flowers in a summer drought They fall into dust
While questions arise in perpetual wanderlust... Of unanswered questions and empty gestures Mandrake saviors and eyes sewn shut This living in fear
Fear of freedom Fear of letting go... of things The novice angel's somber strings... Golden gates and choirs of angels sing praises to a heavenly host who's overlooked in arrogance the true majesty of the world
There is no God in buildings This divisive, cunning method of control Ignorance. Oblivion. Ungratefulness and greed Forever wanting more when the table buckles from building plates so over filled with the beauty of this world
Death is my final gift The leaves that fall nourish the soil with their decomposition and the oak will feed from itself again... And the world thrives Relish the wilderness
There are no forests in your Heaven There are no forests in your Heaven There are no forests in your Heaven There are no forests in your Heaven