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​Please Send This Letter

This song is by Devar-Toi.

Fold me a letter, a keepsake I'll retain
To testify to the times
When to speak of the present in a future tense as in "days to come",
Was to watch a world's entire history crumble before your eyes.

You swear you felt it in the breeze some feathered mystic dared to sail,
And then to wall of shore and cliff, that path brought thou there.
The smashing of skull and blind surprise left the taste bland and dry.
That same taste my own tongue touched as a prelude to every falter.

Worried, held and damaged are the words that wait in an anxious womb.
Their starving for the day they'll be born to the light offered from eyes.
Doubt proposed the stunning question, "prophecy or prediction?"
A fool I am, a fool I am or a fool I would be.

So ready and waiting, I stumbled upon this fragile prayer in disquise.
Unwillingly waiting, tto be blessed with the customs of its lines.
But now I'm ready waiting, tto translate each of the remaining sacraments.
If I die, I die waiting for the demons of faith to pass.

Still I held the hope that my eyes would learn to speak,
But wishing proved itself fruitless in the absence of a dream.
Sky-lit, stone-built wells called me to my feet.
A vile frothing spring began a hemorrhage that ruined its urgency al together.

The victim's flattened pulse advocates the flames of self-destruction.

Witness my destruction:
Oh mirror, mirror just show the pills that I could take
To rid myself of the fear, the fear vanity helped create.
Oh just let one sound fill the awful silence of the break.
The silence bleeds my ears and leaves torn hands to cloak my face.

Columns fall from balance,
Candles tear through darkness, but all alone under loyal moon.
This voided meditation left hurried dying secrets,
Secrets that crawl to their thorn graves.
I cannot cut through a sliver as precise as the stare of a beggar.
One could only hope to fall through the cracks on this barren tread.
The solar flood has left the un-disclosed cry of a concealed eclipse.
Alas the skies split from their communion.
All while the podium remained in a poignant stance of sorrow
Afront speaker that shook in a tone taunting much like death itself.
Reddened skies snatched their desperate discourse
As they shone through, as they shone through.

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