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| Awake Arise Terrible young heathen In dreams of murder and soft white snow I heard the somber song of a withered rose Clinging and spiraling up the spine Poisonous to the touch And kissing the wound of the mind I see a weathered face So much older than I remember I imagine dark locks of hair Dancing serpentine in the air Like an angels requiem or someone's sick dream Her ghostly hands might touch the surface of my skin Might create ripples like water Cascading over the convex of my shoulders Might seperate the flesh from my bones And our lips might touch like dead lovers I could smear the blood of God over her skin Covering a scarlet hourglass on her stomach The beauty of the earth will pass away And I will be dead before long |