Stored in the recesses of our minds
We watched and we wept
Until there were no tears left to
Grace their wrinkled faces
A flame flickers, burns, and dies
But the compulsions won't let him pass
It's always been there, the ghost
It's always been whispering
Weaving threads of obsession
This endless famine of the joys,
And the sorrows are there too,
This complexion hides them all
Unraveling the sanctuaries slowly
And burning the cathedrals quietly