Distant thunder 
Shroud of grey 
To electric gods I pray 
Ivory tower 
Modern way 
Flowers wilt and colours fade 
Every night and every morn 
Some to misery are born 
Some are born to sweet delight 
Some are born to endless night 
The curator of a pale heart 
dreaming of the days it had a pulse 
Framed in silver 
Raised in shade 
Fragile psyche born from pain 
A millennium in a day 
Graceful degradation of my faith 
From the shores of love I depart 
The curator of a pale heart 
Null and void