The Fog is deep, it surrounds my heart
In shallow caves it sleeps, its moist air tastes ****
The air is a brew, of fatal whispers and final words
Piercing eyes in lieu, of a smile that draws blood like swords
Her eyes are alive, moving thunder in a liquid frame
With open arms I dive, beneath the engine of a moving train
A hollow heart comprised, of empty pockets and forbidden shame
Her lilting smile gives rise, to the enclosing embrace of pain