What would it be?
If the rivers failed to flow to the sea.
What would it be?
If my reflecrion dared to look back at me.

What would it be?
To gaze through the glass door.
What would it be?
To see the blood upon the floor.

Oh but the words.
The wicked wicked screaming words
Oh but the words.
Departing on the back of wingless birds.

Oh but the words.
Marring the walls of the blackened soul.
Oh but the words.
Pressing the light from the darkened hole.

Devour the day.
For my feet shall not come play.
Sweetly devour the day.
For after morrow night shall come to stay