Never again will I gaze upon crystal skies
Wrapped in bold lies
And feel the wrath
Of my Father's cries.
I yearn for the sound of her
But not the touch, for a sure
Recipe for distress
I need remedy, a cure.
All that is gone is gone
Is unattainable, forlorn, under the setting sun
It doesn't matter anymore, it's already too late
I wish we could be one.
Retrospective thinking is the worst kind of thinking
Tinkering minds constructing painful devices
Fear of the past turns into dread of the future
And all that was left behind, is now lost.