Climbing through the windows of one's soul
It should be thought their sunglasses were stuck deep inside the couch of their home
Because the story cannot be read unless the frames are right
And the past cannot be heard without a sense for tone.

The good die young, there is no simpler way
And the simplicity of innocence, ***** by man's lust
Once heavenly, now dismal at best
Webster's entry burned at trust

Ash remains from the evils of humanity
Fear dwells in the shadows
The forceful transition to reality
Leaves nothing but the deafening blindness of truth

But where the sea meets the horizon
Stands a beautiful phoenix of two
That torches the dark
And mends the heart of loneliness