Her eyelids lock like gates upon the home behind her eyes
And in her quiet dream's estate she wanders through the vines
The hands she has contain the marks of every single thorn
That one by one began to grow the moment she was born
And as the blood continues down to cover both her arms
She feels the cruor like a seal obstructing all that harms
Her flesh has been a canvas for the painting brush of time
A work completely visible when she unlocks her eyes