Where will the prayer reach when I seek its solace?
I've done the worst of deeds again today
When will the beak that utters an answer with wings
Break the pattern of my voracious stupor?
I'll just wish for a chance to stop
Her essence flows from my hands
I'll just call out my anguish to a non-audience
Her essence peppers the ground
And ye' I know, I took her life this day
Me in my power, and her awash in frailty (an angel if she were)
The visions cleared and ye', dressed were my hands in crimson
Any other way could I choose, I'd clothe them in ash
Where will the prayer I shout finally make way?
I've taken an irreplaceable spark so undeserving
When will the blind cycle of crimson thirst break?
I'm the harbinger of the reaper's soulless aim
Her form lies pale & motionless and I tear
My upward glance is my desperate heart's first chance
I'm reaching out to kill the killing switch
Her essence still peppers the ground
Ye' the mirror breaks as I stare at it red-eyed
Those tears have dried as the splotches on her dress
I still feel her words and I still bask in their meanings
And I stand here aside and urge with outreached red-dressed hands
Where will the prayer I utter ring a willing ear?
I've snuffed out a flame to her bright-burning light
When will I be put on the pedestal of karma?
I cannot forgive my deepest reaches no more
