Towards the rich archaic heavens; towards the lack diorama
you are the artist and the texture
that plays with the mantle of the Earth


When the bleakest of powders
lie rooted to the starched stones

and roots that feed the peaking trees
embrace the sleeping shores


Archaic pearls of sleep and death
the voice of December losing its breath
and the floweryard of whit and grey is haunted


White as the down of flaking snow,
the heroic emblems of life


Green is the color of my death
as the winter-guise I swoop towards teh ground

Green is the landscape of my sorrowfilled passing

We are In Flames,

towards the dead archaic heavens
We are the mantle and the texture
the alters the mantle of the Earth