I live in dreams and visions, a prisoner to kirtar's desire,

awaken by a faithless kiss from lips of angels from on higher.

Weary soul passes on into a dream that i've yet to attain,

feathered blessings curl around me, my sullen, soft remain.

Look down upon me, father, see your mistake, your thorn, your shame.

Look down upon your fallen son, he who proudly boasts your name.

Clenched fists with glistening talons, bleeding deep from every tear

two iris' kissed with moonlight, even these have dulled from wear.

here, the native creatures, rampant, free, has enslaved the open dark.

and in every angry, spiteful move they're sure to leave their mark.

they tear you open make you gone, you can nevermore be alived.

yet the blood still stains on dead remains, until they've satisfyed.

my fight was furious, but in the end, the defeat has come to be

calling out in anger, "i wish your blade'd deeper striken me!

cut your tongue right down the middle to aid in double verse!"

as i stand alone before he himself who shall now present my curse.

why, oh why, did i turn against those who have delievered me?

definatle, any pity is of no deservance for my serpentine mutany.

holding on to the gentle image of what i will now never be,

panic struck voice enter my throat, "what i have done? answer me!"

peeled from my eyes the ability of sight and vision's forced impare,

pinned and shackled, and broke of breath, my wings no longer there.

and you step from your golden throne to advocate my sins,

i'm harshly beaten, storn of life, for now, the devil wins.