Chocolate trees dance with the howling wind

That bites my frosted flesh,

And dreams its way into my pulsating visions.

These troubled mirrors welcome me,

And the bleeding river cleanses my soul.

My attic is feverish from the angry sun

That seeps into my golden eyes.

For the shadows crave my fear,

And feed on my shivering doors,

In order to get drunk on my brewing waters.

The wisdom that grows embalms their bodies

With the power of the creed.

But the meadows continue to awaken

Inside this restless drum.