was i bewitched by the thin red line

and let it snip the silver twine

i stare in silence

that is mine



discomfort of my silent fear, so icy cold,

yet somehow seems to sear my soul

until the ache's too much to bear,

as mortal life now disappears



to steal sweet youth before it turned to gold.

existence now is not what i was told;



wastelands of sorrow, i welcome all i receive

blood before tears, you will see

cold and redundant, i deserve everything i get



what joy, want for nothing

sweet rapture for i am nothing



desolation is a delicate thing