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Do tell me why my dreams |
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Speak to me always of never? |
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For I am the never, the ever dreaming senses |
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Within the windows of mine eyes, the beauty is ever shame |
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This searing imagery roots within my consciousness |
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Imagery that which I wish to know of, and wish not to know of |
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They are one in the same |
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The silence of screaming, deep within the void of my never |
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Take away the emptiness |
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The dance echoes its imagery to me |
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Again and again... and again |
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Our dance... our very last dance |
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Taunting me, taunting delicately around the empty carousel |
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Of what I now wish to be and what remains of my dreams |
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Why must I dream of the flourishing fountain |
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Ever flowing with the blood of al whom hath cried out my name? |
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Forget not my name |
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The dance echoes its imagery to me |
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Again and again... and again |
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Our dance... our very last dance |
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Taunting me, taunting delicately around the empty carousel |
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Of what I now wish to be and what remains of my dreams |
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A glimpse of a beautiful painting slips away |
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Leaving in its place a canvas of endless black... |
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Yet the illusion remains |
