The dew of my brow is set in blood
evening sets with love
Hallucinations of a reverie so still
longing for the length of an infant's cry
The number one to second from last
open the book to page seventy five
Years go by without looking back
the finale so close I cannot finish
I call to her but she is vanished
annoyance accrues with kingdoms come
Silence is the prettiest of sounds
Deafened by the sight of her peril
Death defies a man so dumb, so dreary
I am that man so lost, so weary
Hear my eyes they call to the touch
I cannot tell I cannot reveal
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