Play your chord of sorrow, for failure loves
To sing in eulogies its own
Authored by the dead hand of the past and
Bequeathed to us in these shadows we share.
Conscious of the obscenity of words,
From habit to hesitation, I fall.
A reflection in a river of tears -
All this distance allows me to recall.
Fooled by wisdom from unfaithful servants,
Bound by confessions and tortured at length.
Pillars of truth collapsing to cause these
Mem'ries of weakness to gain on my strength.
Your name I hear echoing in the wind;
Your innocence I wish e'er to revive.
I still hear the heart that is beating from
The void behind the mirror of the eyes.