standing vigilant by the gate of the first mask our hands they now creak from misuse, harden to leather we wait, with hope we can stand guard forever it's a weight that we share this mask is not meant to be buried
nurture and consummate pronounced with a trembling inflection learning how the earth reclaims what it yields us sunken-chested we brandish our offering and admit that we haven't been living or breathing only striving swollen-hearted
silent, blank tomb of white granite stark in its patience beckons for the mask with which we hold concealed the aging of our visage fleeing still its mirror
sculpting frail clays of a tired love whose lungs have collapsed to languish in the breast of a spent kiln it's a weight that we share this mask is not meant to be buriedTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
