Almost condescending it looks on from inside;
I feel strong, this day will never wither!
In sorcery is my most ancient thought,
And I thought the sorcerer was right.
It creeps behind a dusty mirror -
They, in an attic I dreamt of once.
Flow through me again, Wraitful One -
I feel strong!
Throw the tapestry o'er the oracles!
Belong to me in Innocence...
The shears cut cleaner than a child's first sin;
I chose the grave in Blasphemous.
It fell away a hundred times before,
But orisons scratched veiled glass.
"Thou art I," says Cast Away:
And I am in an attic.
I feel weak, this night will never bloom!
I am I
Now you're mine, my cunting child.