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.

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.

Under the sun some time ago,
A violent, greedy form was shaking,
And was struck down, breaking,
By the Son of Heads he tried to pry apart.

But now he is living.
A light shows upon his wicked hooks.
Pointed at something glimmering behind the chorus of swords.

It brightly glares down, the lost appendages float around,
One strikes! Oh– what a sound!
If it just had a mouth it would scream for the world!
Its fingers bleed and are lost to their home,
Said home no longer bound to its segmented docks.
Bridges burning, joints are turning, liquids leaking,
The strings are singing, the clouds are cutting,
A God is laughing! A box is smashing!
"Pathetic fool! See where your arm is now?
Where is your body now? He can't help you,
The evil one that left him lost and helpless!
Powerless fool! You are nothing without him!
He is an engineer without a wrench,
And you a wrench without a *****!
Another choked by the strings of many songs... lost."

The shadow bleeds. He cannot see.
Without a mind he cannot think.
The sheep has tamed and came to shame...
My shadow... bound to his remains.

Have at it, thwart, the shadow.

This music box,
I can't believe,
Destroyed my wingless flying aim.
In the sky, the strings from Hell,
Suppress my need to pray and yell.

My Heaven's gate is locked with gold,
And my mindless snakes awaken...
Rising from below.

If they just had a teacher, maybe...
They could seek to love. One day...
We could fly above.

"You and me,
We were one.
What happened to the times we worked as such?
Our old machines fell into dust.
I have our mind, but I need some arms...
To break the heavens' golden lock.

I don't know much,
But I know my heart...
And unlike you it has not left me.
I have never known anything but...
The passion it has given me,
It is time to be risen!"

I am tired of living!
It is time to start dying...
Ascending!

"Let us build a machine to turn us to dust!
To let us be risen... released finally from this form.
I have been waiting for you, shadow.
I have the power, and you have the strength
To build a contraption and tear a hole in the sky."

A proud disease indeed forgot its home,
Attacked its cherished shelves;
Inflicting flames upon its tomes.

A child swore to slay the host,
But his ageless mind has grown old,
and shapeless face has new hope.

This world he's always known with costly stones lay burried now beneath the singing strings,
And under the sea within these winding keys,
Leaving my steely prayers opposed!

This world I've always known has tarnished under a toxic pearly gate,
These songs I've come to hold corrupted by this poisoned shape.
As stillness kills, I must escape!

My armless form enclosed,
As my skyward craft arose.

This music box aglow with hate!
Screaming a tune to fix my broken fate!
I am contained.

This music box,
That beat my rocket tame.

A part of me became a fiend;
A treasurer that left my sleeves
To find the shiny end to all his dreams.

The flying of his lash upon the sphere
Has caused my own to go numb.

Twisted fingers wilting in the sun,
Prying apart the singing Son of Heads
With all his bleeding life; he was found dead.

A proud disease was born a sheep.
Guided by a shepherd's hand to show its face across the desert sand
Until he dropped the leash.
Wild poison spilled upon the civil streets.

Father, take the body and leave it to drown.
The paths I built are deadly to cross.
This form is raw, these arms are gone,
My face is lost, what can I pray upon?
The windows shut; I cannot go,
Within this self I cannot hold,
Without this form, my panic stilled,
Why trapped with so much sky unfilled?  
Tell this box to let me through.
Make it sing me a song that will lift the bars
And set my ideas free to roam outside this room.
I want to plant a chaos seed.
I wish it to sprout a wonderful tree with clockwork leaves,
To leave in the sphere to watch from my chariot seat.

This music box,
With many locks, and countless knobs,
These melodies play on its strings,
They're nightmares that contain my dreams.

This music box,
A proud disease,
Cannot sustain my faulty sleep.
If I thunder down the walls,
Within, another structure stalls.

O' music box!
Open enclosure that can't release!
Calming madness in a silent stream,
Lined with boulders and a storming breeze!

Collect my thoughts!
Within this music box,
An open sea, yet no sea released.
It tempts me with its pounding waves,
Arrests me, I can hear but I must see.

I am trapped, and just this box can set me free!