My feelings retire into melancholic night.
They drift away in mystic winds murmuring melody.
And my voice, childrens laughter silenced, for you have gone and torn my heart anew.

Now this blade that cries out pain kills my angel, whose wings are dull realities.
The same angel that dubbed my love two mileniums young.
But brilliant is the sun that it disguises painful tears with paper smiles glued upon my weary face.

Yet still you manage to find my greatest insecurity and shine the brightest t light upon its surface.
In hopes that my cobweb heart and straw-made soul will wilt and die like some weak flower.

Those hopes in vain, because through the years of silenced tears my heart did turn to stone.
And my sympathy runs dry like the wings of one thousand moth made butterflies.
So from now on till the dying of the moon any kiss i throw your way will be tainted with crimson hate.

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