I often wonder what time the icy rain
Will trickle down on my charred mind.
Whistle blows and I am succumbed with fever
From your moist soul that bleeds through the mesh.
Welcome to my hide out.
I hope you will enjoy your stay here in the Imperial Palace.
Fish are jumping inside my pools of consciousness.
Are you a relic of the ancient?
Cinder is my clothing,
And the sparrow, my voice.
Down I go, crashing into your roadblock.
Mystic flutes drench my voice in fire
That builds inside this frothy nest.
I believe in the power of heavenly bliss,
And I drink to my soft silhouette
That clings to my rigged spirit.
You pound me into walls
With your fist that is a hammer.
My soul is a drum that beats rapidly
With every gaze you throw my way.
Run swiftly across icy fields to devour bassoon lungs,
And remise your song that is the golden falcon.