This, Murder Of Crows

Beyond these eyes, wade nightmares yet to come. My innocence is nothing but a
veil of equivocation. Only whores wear black, and offer red roses at funerals.
This opiate offered me serenity, when I was on my knees. Once it was so
beautiful. But like a dying lilac; the beauty soon turns black. I was lonely,
but I'm not alone anymore. My vein rivers of pollution, injected harmony. I no
longer need such a longing kiss from your parched lips. I can reach the stars
from here. Something I've never been offered before. And your desire wanes when
you have a universe to discover. And pleasures other to be had. I'm slowly dying
now, a pleasant death. I can see them coming; three birds flying across the
darkened sky, this! a murder of crows.