I.
I am my own shadow
I observe my own flaws
I recall my own prospect
and I eradicate my own laws

II.
The rhythm can batter me with the touch of a hand-
     but only if the world can detach itself from demand
And the music can strip both ears from my head-
      only when demons chose the daylight instead
Contradictions can paint me a macabre visage-
      if descriptions will lay their ambitions to image

III.
Kiss me goodbye with the sound of a drum
every beat resonating into the cavities of my lung

Will the coffin to close and seal my disconsolate contempt
and the pending air will allow one ***** to be exempt

Celebrate the song of my ironic demise-
but only if you remember, I'm not the one who dies

IV.
This lung has seen more shadows than reprise-
but abides by the silent cries of silhouettes' eyes

This lung has been ravaged time after time-
the story why its poison is long past its prime

This lung has tasted obscurities darker than your endeavor-
so raise it up to the sky and it will thrive forever

Take this lung into the palm of your hand-
and absolve it from death without a command

Carry me down to the sea,
past the old sycamore tree
My languid body has grown too weak
help me find the bones I seek

Set me into the acrid bath-
I yearn for its resplendent wrath
Weeping spirits start to appear
chanting songs I cannot hear

Bloodless faces shaped like bowls-
slits for eyes, and void of souls
Salty water fills my lungs
and I can read their spirit tongues

I rise from the serenity,
and claim a new identity
Gaze at my poignant reflection-
green slit-eyes and gray complexion

I join my brother and sister souls,
slits for eyes and faces like bowls