::07:09:08::

::: Wretch :::

She opens the box, dusty and in chains, lifted from the sacred keep, laden with her whispers of regret and olden promises...

Lyrical verses of her own private hell, asking me to look, if just for a moment, upon the visions spreading...
Of how her life used to be, voices echoing from the chamber that is her soul...rebounding down dark halls...

That once rang with laughter, and it rings in my head, sweetly out of tune...

Memories come to rest, gently suffocating...

The tears splash down in a plea for an answer, she begs me to look...

Where she hangs in the corners, like shadow, like a shade..

Dripping cobwebs shedding dust from her ancient shell...

Lurking in her own private hell, gargoyles guarding visions on scarred walls...

As the rose petals of her life dance like fairies around my head...

Pressed and delicate, so much like the parchment she signed long ago...

Black blood and misery-she tries to smooth my brow...

The child long since dead, my stone gone cold from neglect and selfishness...
I rise, as she moves, her sackcloth sweeping silent plea...

For a reason to the madness, to find some pleasure in the pain...
The sweet cedar smell of the box reaches me, luring, like some pharaoh's perfume...

Her dwelling for so long, she had held me fast, a common thread....

In the tapestry she wove from the souls she helped to sell...

A victim of her sweet embrace, the lips so cold, chilling deep...

I once knew her well, my lady, my life-she comes to me out of the darkness...

Holding my face as she kisses into endless sleep...

An answer to the madness...to give pleasure to the pain...

Written by: ~ Jamie Black