Fragile is the glass
The shadows of the crumbs of the bite of time
fracture against the rock face of the rhythmic dance of life
Wherein, there lies the mystery
Why is it we fall
Why is it we dance
Why is it we think we are not ghosts, not shadows, nor blemishes on the fragrance
Why is it, we love
Fragile is the glass to be drunk from
Why is it we feel
Why is it we love
Why is it we think we are ghosts, shadows, or fragrant
Why is it, we hurt
The light of the stars of the kiss of time
envelops the rock face of the empyrean dance of life
Wherein, there lies the enigmatic reflection of ourselves
Fragile is the glass, empty, yet to be filled
Why is it we taste
Why is it we hunger
Why is it we think there are ghosts, shadows, or fragrances
Why is it, we dream
The wild woods of the composer of the breath of time
climb the rock face of the impossible dance of life
Wherein, there lies the tempest
Fragile is the glass
Fragile …
