God has made a mad fool of me.
How cruel to mock me with such a pretty face.
If I gave up now to a ghost in a hall,
A shadow beyond a curtain,
I’d meet nothing but a cold draft of suffocating air.

My spirit would linger like a silk caress.
Woven with the gaze of an absinthe colored stranger,
This fragile thread in my hands...now

Will it mend or melt my heart?
Am I to break her gently,
Or will she be the end of me?

Redemption is not for my kind,
I will die seeking nothing but the eyes of my beholder.
If she be waiting for me,
Then I will know that I am forgiven
And that heaven does exist