I wonder, sometimes, what it's like,
Life, beyond this pale, grey sky,
Damaged, torn from horror and spite,
Is this world insane, or am I?
.

Once a meadow green, lays now this land barren,
This silence sickly, was once broken by the music of the raven,
Sunlight once flooded bright, the bleak blemish behind which I now cower,
The landscape of mind, was once where had bloomed the flowers.
.

And as these walls close in, and fades away the place,
Weak, trembling, writhing, I give in,
As I look at the white cloaked mans' face,
And his nod of approval, as I fall into the void within.
.
A sea of white.
The raven from childhood.
.
Sing to me raven, I beg, take me there,
To the place where I was alone and happy,
I begin to wonder, as he silently stares,
Was a curse of time, this, or am I the watchmaker?