“Scribe quickly your name, and stay to the right. Your script is curved
It's inclination hooks and spurts as if rushed to the end
We'll see… This is only a glimpse. Still, you've kept your head down
Where are you hiding? And are you weak? Are you afraid?
Did you creep each step aghast, skirting shadows, or is it what I seek?”
You called to pound the door with pointed hand, but we would burn the house
We barred the doors with guilt and bone, still we might burn the house
We would burn this house of ill regard. Cathedral eyes were sewn to bind
You won't storm the house. We would burn the house
My temple, I've mortared lock and key alike. All's buried, naught to find
What am I now, torn in two? The illusion of me becomes and confronts you
What am I, split in two? What's left of me will retreat from this empty knowledge
We'll weed out what we don't know
I've cut my loss and severed a thought from mind
It plummets like a stone, and glaring back from depths to heights, will torch the night. Retreat from this empty knowledge. Weed out what we don't know
Retreat from this broken logic
Lost in what we do not know, we'll weed out what we don't know
The road that lay forward was paved with my fears. I tore at the open floor
I scurried away, and down. Call out to the open floor
Call out to the words that bind us whole. Call out from the weighted floor
Call out to the guards before us all. Call out to the way
The wound was cauterized. Burn my way and throw me off to the gate
Come fire. Come flame. Come home. Burn my way. These days were a waste
Come fire. Come flame. The weight of a sin's thick fog. Come fire. Come flame
Burn my way. And after all these words I couldn't break away from its hold
Weed out what we don't know
Shadows are fading. The burnt walls are crumbling
The old guard is changing. We won't look down, where we've aimed for
Not before my eyes, but hidden behind my back, and grasped with blood in claw
My soul possessions are scant. Withdraw your hands. I've set my share alight
What's beneath this? The husk is wrapped; its form flawed
We'll pry the fingers back each bone from bone, all ashen, crumbled away
False. The rest is soot and blown off. We won't wait. Fall
What we've come digging for is dead and cold
We couldn't wait for the beatings