may I write with blood what comes to my vision
and prove my insolence as haunted chaser of the living and dead
for all has become shadows and mist befor my sight . . .

across the vast params of the earth as wandering witness among all being and sense
through vast realms and complex train vesels I ran and I saw
what will come to be from our own undoing is nigh upon all being and sense
as all living manfool accomplish his existence at the hands of insanity
I pass through them as shadow among shadows
pail reflection of my youth on my scared face is what remains from my last despair
from the last memory of the one I loved
idol of my own desire bring with you the thousand names
fair eva, where have you gone? where would I find you again?
when would I meet love once more at the shadow of your image?
for I'm nothing but ashes and dust wandering through darkness and doud
what will come to be from all our circunstances and our own cycles?
what will come to be from our own undoing? from my undoing?
I am nothing, I am no one, I am none