• Let years gone past
    Travel by so fast
    Among tendrils of ebony
    There will always be enemy
    But among those hearts so pure
    For the weakest and strongest cure
    You do not wish to seek
    What is not small and meek
    For the truest goal of all
    Is merely to fall
    Allow sleeves of glory to trail along the ground
    Let yourself be lost if only to once more be found
    Tonight into the air let yourself go
    If only for the world to halt and slow
    Though not much more makes sense
    Never let yourself fall into such pretense
    Viture that was once held dear
    Now enemy that draws so near
    To decipher what is true
    Keep skies of truest blue