"Now is the winter of our discontent"
How unbalanced this pendulum sways
to and fro in the penultimate ways of before.

Tread fine ways of time
When unraveling the strands, every second counts.
Seldom reminiscing the fabled arts that are lost from sight
In this forsaken tragedy
Our fraudulent phase of life.

To look into it, brings the sweetest smile
Of days lost to bitterness.

The luxury of the moment fleeting
Immortalized forever now
The sound of your heart beating
You'll breathe in and do not care
But a gasp some now revealing
A wish for Orphelia's air

With debris of cluttered line,
To be stolen from the mad rush of consequence...
Or not to be staring in own redemption
That is the question, whilst thinking of me.

Our journey made of circles
Brings us all the way home again
Back to the start
Through centuries of savage tongue,
that I call my own.
Where the influential ties are wrought
To feather down the most frequent fall


Radiated by the golden glow of counterfeit age
They are no more.

Our journey made of cycles
Bring us all the way here again
Back from the start
Through aberrated centuries undone
Disposed of lyrical muse
Melancholia sits, floundering on
Awaiting the pall.