No more though I pine, may I rip from breast and thought
This blind obedience to kind that claims all that is naught
What trance belies and thus survives divided from the whole
Ere natures heart must thus depart from customary roles
As fleeting breaths do evanesce in splintered harmony
Bids archeus farewell to dwell in brief obscurity
What balm may stem the march of time, what plea redeems the day
Who dares conspire and thus oppose the gyre of Sedens way