Forces unbeknownst to me await behind the heaven's gate,
And my father... a figure in the clouds, whose image calls so loud...
The ward who kept me under lock and key,
Who gifted me a script I could not read:
A set of prison bars too high for me to reach.

This grand composer of the songs and strings,
As I grow closer, turns around and seems...

Terrified... of me? My father runs, my chorus has begun.

So much to see, but the shadow...
The shadow strung with greed.
My shadow... whom I cannot leave.
Striketh other worlds with swords and lashes on a quest to mold!

My father runs. No! What have I unleashed?
A chaos tree with spinning clockwork leaves.
All I wanted was to breathe, but my breath moves mountains,
Feel, my breath that floods the ocean floor.
I am drowning.
Drowning in this music box's open sea.

My skyward craft was deconstructed.
Left to dust, it could have flown,
Had not this toy sung it to home.

It was my fault that it resembled,
Far too much, a fleeting moth.
So long this world and all its nightmares,
So long my friend, the aching world.

For too long my father, soaked in slaughter,
Held this grudge on a seeking child.

Welcome my laughter, disguised as a daughter,
Unrecognized by her sick godfather:
A real machine made to unleash.

Her naked smile is a gate to Hell,
Behold, inside a metal burning trail.
When the fuse is short, the clouds will burst.
A real machine set to release the curse.

A fool trapped under my ancient wrath withers.
He shouts but not a sound is heard.
He grabs but nothing registers.
His world is grave and I cannot show it.
He is depraved but he cannot know it.

This man is a spark and he can't set a fire.
This fire would burn a hole in the sky.
If he somehow escapes he'll be living up higher,
So, he must be contained in a rotting state.

Brother, why must you go off again?
Stay and play with me, brother, you're my only friend,
Instead of marching off alone away from home.
They always say to me I gotta grow up some time,
But growing up is so lonely.
My brother marches off alone.

Remember when the floor was burning under lava,
And the furniture was the only stable safety?
Father would scold us for making him worry,
Then melt into the floor and rise up a monster.
That day, brother, I know you won't believe it,
But in his eyes I saw a child lit.
There was a spark, brother, and then mom came home.
She brought in a letter that made him hide in his coat.
That spark disappeared, and the child died.
Does everyone have a kid resting inside?

My brother stares at his clothes in a campfire's glow.
The blood on this hands showing all that he knows.
I cast my heart to the stars, brother please come home.
My brother watches the stars. To forever he goes.

Gazing out my window at the subtle rise of dawn,
The figure of my brother approaches on the lawn.
There was a spark in his eye and then silver and lead.
Forever lies my brother who won't march off again.

Part IV: Strings Through Face


How it works is far beyond me,
But what it holds my eyes can capture.
Twist the knobs and find the right keys,
Twist the knobs and my face is captured.

I have no face.
I cannot see but I still wonder.
My eyes are gone.
Where is the lightning?
As I hear the thunder.

This music box ate my face alive!
Stringing out my sight!
Where are you?

Tearing off my nares!
Who are you!

Sewing close my jaw!
Why are you...

My face is lost!
Father, my face is gone!
I need another...
This music box defiles my slumber!

Father!
Do you hear my calls?
My face is lost father, where did I go wrong?

The air around is dead,
I cannot let it in.
My voice outside cannot be said,
But I need an answer...

O' music box,
With many strings,
Why imprison me?
Why cast your blades across the steely sky?
I must away, but you force me to stay.

When I was a boy, I saw unleashed upon you,
With my young eyes,
A proud disease.

My friend was sick; I could not heal him,
So all I could was smash and bash him.
He would not die, I did not cry,
For I was lost to my own music making box.

"Father, what is this gift? A toy?"
Asked I the living wandering boy.
"How does it work?"
Like death, my youngest self should have foreseen.

Stillness. There is no fire causing havoc in the forest.
There is no floodwater to wash away the dirt it rests upon,
Screaming a song. The birds are mellow.
The squirrels are hiding. My back rests against a maple tree.
Imagination is free, but bound by peaceful things.
My thoughts can wander freely, but the woods are dull.
Can you sing me a song? My plots fall flat.
Falling... though an endless void. There is only black.
This mind is useless if my tales are null.
I already drowned the rabbit hole.
Silence. I already egged the nests,
And boulders keep the bears at rest.
They're sleeping. The woods are sleeping. The trees still standing,
And I'm still humming this same old tune.