was i bewitched by the thin red line and let it snip the silver twine i stare in silence that is mine discomfort of my silent fear, so icy cold, yet somehow seems to sear my soul until the ache's too much to bear, as mortal life now disappears to steal sweet youth before it turned to gold. existence now is not what i was told; wastelands of sorrow, i welcome all i receive blood before tears, you will see cold and redundant, i deserve everything i get what joy, want for nothing sweet rapture for i am nothing desolation is a delicate thing