| O’angels come to guide me in my sacred land
|
| Thine holy glance enlights my chamber
|
| Stranger worlds in fractal thoughts
|
| A gentle thrill
|
| I’m crowned with thorns
|
| Who will remember this?
|
| Quiet doms of whispering circling in my head
|
| Collapsing mental boundries
|
| Draconic lips of mine
|
| And angels still corrupting with a silent word of wisdom
|
| O’angels find their sacred land
|
| In my debility they bloom
|
| Kill my flesh
|
| Kill my skin
|
| Cure my sore
|
| Cure my belief
|
| A wince, just to regret
|
| To wear a willow
|
| A wince, just to regret self — sacrifice
|
| To wear the willow- lost within
|
| And grieve for what I’ve lost — a mournful eye
|
| My thirst for life embodies prayers at night
|
| I sentence myself — a wilful execution
|
| Disclaiming innocence indeed
|
| O’angel find their sacred land in mine
|
| What they have never dared to be
|
| O’angel find their sacred land in mine
|
| Where they can be what they greed
|
| O’angel find their sacred land in mine
|
| For they can still make me believe
|
| O’angel find their sacred land in mine
|
| For they have crowned me …
|
| …Crowned with thorns |