In this moment, I am standing at the bottom of a hazel tree, the light is dim, dusk is falling. The rainclouds, block out all life. I stand, crouched and weary. Slowly breathing. Breathing in, the breath of life, into these hollow lungs of mine, my ears are soar, my feet ache, but my heart, aches more. From my own home, a poison has come over me, a poison that I myself, have sown. And though I'd love to feel alive, I don't know if i'd fall. My lungs burn, with the rigourous moisture, of the poison in my heart, I am impaled in spirit, by my love, my own, my heart of all. I repeat myself, on this whithering day, that my dirge will go on forever. It will not stop until I'm satisfied, my hunger reached it's tether. A fickle rope, binds her to me, a bond that shall be cut, by spite and malice and liberty, and the water of my dirge. A song, a song I sing for her. A song I'd like to sing. But my voice pours into her, I can only sing along. For millions of flakes of snow, fall into my blood, as they crystalise my every cell, I know they won't melt me. I'd love to know of what I speak, as I speak, my love. My love for her, the eternal dove, I love the way she sings. A song, a song she sings for me, and how she sings it sweet, a song, a song I'd like to hear, as she only sings along. Behold my heart, a rejoycing moon, I swear upon a lover's swoon, and if my grace were to surpass, my love of her, she is my last. A song she sings, a song, it pours out of her lips to mine, a song, a song for her, I sing with my own voice. And as I sing this song for her, I can only sing along.