Sunday, 15 July 2007


Now I take thee name as I lay dying,
Bound to rocks and plagued by birds.
Rapture beckons, from way too far,
You're the words made flesh that made fleash into words.

Forsake me father,
Martyr me dead.
Sour a world with alchemy,
Turn gold back into lead.

And your bones are hollowed by heresy,
Still, hallowed be thy name.
Shadows chasing me across the ravine,
Now I open my arms wide at your pearly gates.

Down in the valley of gods,
Right there is where I choose to run.
I'm out of sight, yet in your mind,
My tale is in the world of substance spun.

I'm the child who stands,
Between the earth and insubstantial air.
A thought that treads your rain swept lands,
Mortals seek me, their skin I wear.

A virgin fable stooped to gloom,
Pure light of the mind, across the moon.
But the story's done, it has had it's day,
I'm but a mould of the human clay.

Iam Promethea, the rumoured one,
Angels whisper my name.
The voice left alone, once all is done,
I'm a dream that waking does not end.

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