I am an empty sect
Created from the follies of a street warrior
And the regret of a deceitful bride
We are just

And to hope for a greater youth
Would be against my religion

But to wish for a greater hollow
That happens unbeknownst to me
Growing larger at every bright scene
Of Lovers in the Spring
Temples of the Brave
And Beauty at its Peek

I am but an almost inaudible echo in time
I damp gray feather blown away by a sorceror in disgust
At his latest indiscretion

Father of Time and
Mother of Nature
Souls of Old and
Springs of a new age grow

All in front of me
All behind me
Never to be held by my inglorious hands
Fade in the natural tone of my ghostly skin

Fade at once, for me
Smile and laugh
So that I may see
What shall never be