Almost condescending it looks on from inside;
I feel strong, this day will never wither!
In sorcery is my most ancient thought,
And I thought the sorcerer was right.

It creeps behind a dusty mirror -
They, in an attic I dreamt of once.

Flow through me again, Wraitful One -
I feel strong!
Throw the tapestry o'er the oracles!
Belong to me in Innocence...

The shears cut cleaner than a child's first sin;
I chose the grave in Blasphemous.

It fell away a hundred times before,
But orisons scratched veiled glass.
"Thou art I," says Cast Away:
And I am in an attic.

I feel weak, this night will never bloom!
I am I
Now you're mine, my [bad word] child.