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Almost condescending it looks on from inside |
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I feel strong, this day will never wither! |
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In sorcery is my most ancient thought |
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And I thought the sorcerer was right |
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It creeps behind a dusty mirror |
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They, in an attic I dreamt of once |
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Flow through me again, wrathful one |
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I feel strong! Throw the tapestry o'er the oracles! |
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Belong to me innocence... |
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The shears cut cleaner than a child's first sin |
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I chose the grave in blasphemous |
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It fell away a hundred times before |
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But orisons scratched veiled glass |
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"Though art I," says cast away |
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And I am in an attic |
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I feel weak, this night will never bloom! |
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I am I - now you're mine, my cunting child |
