Their Malice, Intertwines.
Why doth thy light waver?
Your brightness smothered
By transient bonfires
Pale incandescence blotted out
By glass mountains
Of dying fools
You hide from these
Pathetic usurpers
From all the stranded souls below
The lay of land
Thrice turned o'er
The branches of time
Thrice turned ash
Sow your seed
Upon barren ground
Chain thyself to the stars
Their malice intertwines
Spinning thricefold
Id and Ire spiralling
Turning thricefold
As the incense of all
Your Iris ravaged by the eons
Chained hopelessly to the stars