The offering place of all that I am,
Is a fountain rich with the blood of thousands.
For I have been two-thousand hands,
And a thousand masterpieces.

Silent songs sweep my heart,
Of every noise that hurts my head;
When the thousand-handed fountain,
Coats my love in red.

Earthly intended de-scension.
Becoming that of all imperfection.
Here is where I begin my forward movement,
Into this forever fractured moment.

Let me not forget,
The spirals of wisdom,
Rested in the red,
Of lives before now.
The spirit knows how;

So I bring it all within me.

Madness rules us all,
In the first life and the last.
My thousand-handed fountain,
Will feel you for that.

Shining on me - I thank the Sun.
Reminding me of an old song,
So I can hear it like a new one.

Here is our meeting place;
Flowing ribbons of crystal lace ~
The river runs into a rising sky.

Have I been enough?

My fountain nearly filled,
With masterpieces lived and killed.
Will I move into eternity?
Someday, certainly.
So this is it.

*I will find this place again.