The week beginning
The seventh of the tenth
Twenty thirteens from my final death
Wings clipped now, time is done
Madness has manifest
straight after sweet love
Scouring the undertow
dusky and dusted
I dream of the willow
pure yet untrusted
I envision a broken halo
charred, shattered and rusted;
utterly finished, diminshed
as if we have never lived
All this respect we had claimed and craved
Caught our fire and went up in frames of flames
And the lie that called us all to see
Eye to eye has fallen three degrees
So if you hear the sound of my voice again,
then know I'm three thirteens, awaiting death
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
The week beginning
The seventh of the tenth
Twenty thirteens from my final death
Wings clipped now, time is done
Madness has manifest
straight after sweet love
Scouring the undertow
dusky and dusted
I dream of the willow
pure yet untrusted
I envision a broken halo
charred, shattered and rusted;
utterly finished, diminshed
as if we have never lived
All this respect we had claimed and craved
Caught our fire and went up in frames of flames
And the lie that called us all to see
Eye to eye has fallen three degrees
So if you hear the sound of my voice again,
then know I'm three thirteens, awaiting death
