'. . . and when the time comes at which they receive their wings . . .'

The doubt that madness breed
feeds this eternity.
perhaps the promises were not intended
to endure.
The scars that life has carved
fell deepest on your heart
and the strength to overcome
has left you waiting here.

But though the phantoms of this place
want to steal away your grace
I'll sleep beside you through the cold
I will not leave you here
And in this silence I can hear
all the fury and the fear
but I promise you my love
I will not leave you here
For I will bury you
Where they bury me

But the emptiness is filled
and the hatred reconciled
with a daily struggle
to forget.
Beyond frustration and contempt
is the pain of heaven spent
by those ignorant and cold;
at your expense.

I see, I see, I see we move with the water
I feel, I feel, I feel this darkness receding
I see, I see, I see we flow like the ocean
I feel, I feel, Oh God I don't think I'm breathing

But though the phantoms of this place
want to steal away your grace
I'll sleep beside you through the cold
I will not leave you here
And in this silence I can hear
all the fury and the fear
but I promise you my love
I will not leave you here
For I will bury you
Where they bury me


'. . . and when the time comes at which they receive their wings they have the same plumage because of their love.' -- Sokrates; Plato's Phaedrus