Leave me behind in the darkest depths of thine mind,

The ashen vale at where I sing, was for thou too much, thine suffering,

I wished for a kiss goodbye, but my thoughts betrayed my sacrifice,

I trudge on into this barreling chasm, barely escaping your breaking fathom,

Relieve me of what has since gone and passed,

Thine most regret to see me at last,

And wherefore do I belie thy still?

Perhaps it is thine precious will,

I will not stand yet, I shall remain seated

In what my mind has yet secreted,

Of failure, of faith,

Of my longing and wraith,

And of my mind for thou, irate,

At where my mind may rest, gestate,

This peace is not peace,

Nor a piece of relief,

It is only remorse and the gloom of failed grief.