through a labyrinth of ancient loves. we see the sons to come. wasted. in the desert of our desolation. like bones. emptied of marrow. they are who we are who we want to be. the evening and a moon of gold that we can reach. eternity. cloudless and unchanging. an everlasting instrument of god's wrath. turning you into a whisper.
tying you into the fog. where shadows melt into your eyes. and your eyelashes bind themselves to the horizon. and the moon breaks through. there, we are (yet again) reborn. persons at the whim of puppets. mastered by the shadows that haunt them in their dreams.
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