I fell from a high place. Rebelled and defiled Grace.
Her face so ripe in the light of faith leaving this plight so trite,
It's mine to taste.

I do not feel, weakness is for the blessed.
I am not real, breathless, fading and wretched. So...
As this tiny flash appears, it takes all attacks of fear.
And like the light of a kings ears, it breaks the fight for a new year.