The heart beats to that of a mind

In time I shall wait for you

But that's of a different kind

In which we'll finally live that of a life we were meant to

Listlessly waiting for a love that was never mine

Or conferring in strange pretense alike

Whispering through the curtains so fine

That mist withdraws itself from your presence

 

I will to seek

Myself in you

And reach this sorrow's peak

As I know I shall find nothing

But that of a grave

Cut in two to please the soul

And make itself a slave

For all men shall wander themselves upon you

A lover shall not give the soul of another

To appease the spirit within

Or rather spitting itself onto that of dry sand's cover

Purging itself of all evil's that awaken the mind

In its most treacherous way

To slit that of the man's throat

And find itself lest it stay

 

Plummeting into a hell

It had never seen before

And that of which to sell

His soul that he may get

Away from the light

Into a beautiful sleep

Wherever it might

Find itself in the forceful hands of death