like a moth to candle  the summerlands made home  a hollow shell, our utopia  now empty lies his oaken throne  veiled in mist, true revelation  secrets of this blessed realm  through life and death, commiserations  in struggle, valour to overwhelm  each day, another pain  each dawn I die, at dusk we pray  empty dreams in midnight clouds  cloaked in doom, the darkest shroud  sleep the years hind walls of silence  safe in cairns of deepest black  weary of strife, the rancour  strength of conviction, now flowing back  cast in iron our resolutions  the melting mirror would not show  reflections of a weaker side  only here are we all  I shall not drown in his golden tears  save. these truths for the weaker man  nor lay my head at his feet  to tremble as the meekest lamb  kiss me now for I have sinned  upon my brow a crown of thorns  ease this doubt with whispered promise  as I open my veins to greet the dawn