Book of the Swarthy Cassonade: Chapter III - To Thread the Silver Wings

Whimsical stars shed their lullabies to our death beds
Sealed our eyes, should we rise to shine they stood no chance
We could dim their detached poison with a grand defeat

Plucked all the wrong strings and toned faulty melodies
Shadowed by the curfew of the weakened spirits
Shriveled in the corner of our private confinement

But beyond the solstice where the days grew old and weary
I shrugged all the symptoms and stepped away from all things solitary

Moments passed and a darkness gently seeped right back in
All the beauty deviated, deprived us of our singing voice
Coarse channeled feelings dropped one by one from the heavens above

The undercurrent fleshed out mock and taint from the carcass
Ground hugged our feet and rejected all the memories
Fell into the void where the future was lost once again

But towards the solstice where the days will vow their goodbye
I was torn into pieces, set aflame by the absent reply

Oh I know, from the odious ashes I would be born again
Showered by the past, as the tenacious phoenix I feign
Just despise this residual aftermath, the redundant ache
I will swoop down to feast on the life this hollow forsake