Pale Heart - The Mire

Distant thunder

Shroud of grey

To electric gods I pray

Ivory tower

Modern way

Flowers wilt and colours fade

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born

Some are born to sweet delight

Some are born to endless night

The curator of a pale heart

dreaming of the days it had a pulse

Framed in silver

Raised in shade

Fragile psyche born from pain

A millennium in a day

Graceful degradation of my faith

From the shores of love I depart

The curator of a pale heart

Null and void