From the Inner Reaches of My Mind
Reap the rose,
And fill the prose,
With words of bittersweet solace.
Whisps of Hell,
And the toll of a bell,
Fill all our thoughts with sorrow.
Tears of angels,
And words satanic,
Shall lap against our world.
And fill the prose,
With words of bittersweet solace.
Whisps of Hell,
And the toll of a bell,
Fill all our thoughts with sorrow.
Tears of angels,
And words satanic,
Shall lap against our world.