My hand is copper.
My brow is lead.
Suffer me in a red patina,
swept along in a molten flow
to a sad eternity.
My stride interrupted
my thoughts untimed
my tears are become drops of silver
and shattered the crystalline fern.
I plead the wind to sweep us away.

My alabastrine limbs, useless and tired,
my carnelian heart, beatless and mired.
I pick the gilded apple from the iron tree
I wipe the rust from my brow.
The earth rejects me, foul and changed,
the wind refuses me, unsightly and maimed.
My voice is corrupted, my tongue unwind,
my pulse is mercurial sickened, it slows.
Destiny and danger are stil focused on the one,
the renegade who is both brethren and betrayer.

Beware the spider, for he weaves both labyrinth and lair.

My heart it ceases, my breath undrawn.
My eyes forever focused on the sanguine metal dawn.