I pedaled slowly; a rusty chain circled its track
Quiet winds kissed my cheeks and my fingertips
Before me, a church is home to singing angels
It neighbors a house of cracking Rulers and warnings of damnation
Inside the house are black boards caked in white dust
The dust resides slyly, a subtle reminder of who I was
And from my lips a remedy falls in the form of a sigh
Knowing that the Demons inside are nothing but forgotten ghosts