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Losing interest in hollow times,
my eyes grow weary still.
What have I? other than darkness,
how I crave her touch.
Release my Nightingale, from her crippled
shell,
remove me from this twisted hell.
Take my angel, back, to the purple skies,
forgive my failings, as all hope dies.
The wings of an angel, to carry me away,
the scent of the roses, from darker days.
The songs of the fallen, to lift me up high,
the scent of the roses, to caress me as I die.
Take me into your eyes, your fallen embrace,
raise me to your heaven, to bathe in your grace.
Hold me up high, that all is forgotten,
that all is forgiven...
(c)2001 Luvadea DeMortessa