Let us remain pale
And write our tale
Of demented signs on a bloodied rail track
And encounters of joy wrapped in rarity
We are two claws
Escaping the last
One is a torch of scorn
The other, a season of wreck
We desfigure from tedious dreams
With cold fingertips
And pride in our lips
We are hated
And inflamable
With stitched souls
If the world hunt us
WeŽll hide in our roots
And before the night falls
Carve me Alyssa, deep
Close to me
Copyright 2005 Ornamented Flesh
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