Oh thy paradise of fear fraught with lasting woe,
did I request thee maker of clay to mould me man,

that i might know passion, love and hate by thy hands.

Only to stand against thy Hora, and thy manipulation, as you tortured my soul..

demons in your shadows, locked behind your doors,
we all have ours..

The fear of being broken and cracked , oh maker of clay...

Even in your cold  paradise so too is fear that waits..

Lost forever i might have been..

it was her light that saved me from your hands......my muse that dances on the sand..