Paint the grave and impossible hope, across my aching chest.

Run the new and tepid blood, through my chilly veins.

For i hold to, the true, of heart,
That escapes us now.

And wake of me my sorrow gone,
And let me go my way.

I run away from shallow ground,
that you have stirred,
In chance you might
be fond upon to plant.

A  sound,
Resound,
Resound,

And flee

Where echos of the past,
Can breath.
And offer up new hope.

But I am only here in sight.
My thoughts are far removed.
My thoughts belong to
Years ago.
Those days I turned to stone.