Rapture And The Mourning Virtue

And the flower to poison grey
The beggars' winter, the almighty's reign

A drama in silver
Drawn in bitter dusks
Clouds drift across the end
One's own flesh and blood

Ravished, oh melancholy
The icon, a greedy touch
And the moon to blood divine
The arms, they dream, I scorn

Shall cynic be always
The dread of all the incensed
Horrent as the intrepid falls
The last, for ever, throne

Seconds of the past
Solitary cries
Wandering
The crestfallen invoked
The envy carved in stone
Immense eversince

Rapture and the mourning virtue

And the flower to poison grey
The beggars' winter, the almighty's reign