The hollow flame of christmas
is but a memory...

Hy a Scullyas Lyf a Dhagrow
this fancy infancy...

Like bees to flowers, so are the sands of our...
like pointless aphrodesia, braindead amnesia...

You tiptoe through my dreams
stampeding as I wake...

With your hand
reach out and...

This is one of my many masks,
me staring through the broken glass...

An effigy of anguish with a frosted demeanor, I...
fervently languid in the center of your paradox...

Some nights grow so bitterly cold
and sometimes we might withdraw...

I crave those things
white styrafoan pleasures...

There was that swelling of his ego that far...
Truth was a pallette with which we dabbed our...

Tear drops stain my existence and leave me blue...
its so cold, tearing my world askew.. falling...

My forest - now turned battlefield -
has been shrouded with such a...