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Script that coils ‘round my arms

Prayers of a long lost priest

Descriptions of a world beyond

The promises they can’t keep

I hold my torch up high

In search of the key to the lock

Yet I always forget one truth

I am not one with this flock

Standing on the precipice of death, you question:

“Why am I here?”

The echoes of our deep November resounding and clear

You were never the key, though I hear faint echoes of your knock

Our paths no longer cross, and I will never be your lock

Brace

We never held the same beliefs

Despite our lucid hopes we live the life beneath

What sense is there to grip the memories of a life that’s lost?

Perhaps one day we’ll find each other’s gaze

In the frost