Lying in a visage of treacherous stride,
Living on bushels of gold, barrels of wine;
Listening to the voices echo down
The empty halls of your heart–
Voices evil, lost, divine.
Through it all, though consumed,
Half-rotted by pride;
What your heart shall say
That you will abide.
I love you:
Though you are still in pain
(from what had been)–
How can I break through the wall
To hold you in my arms again?