we have not left of you
but the the wit of life
made way on the inner voice of silent speak
spoke as flesh into this resonant body
sung into being by the minds lament on the tongue of tongues

no other ye be born to here in the spin of eye
no sight no blood no life to gift
as that first dies in the living of creation
buried in the hopes of prophecy and self
scented oer the trunk of the open heart
on souls stay as gone isn't long now
and rich be's the fruit of fear
loved unto its truth