From childhood's hour I have not been—as others were—I have not seen. As others shared, I could not bring my passions from a common spring, no. From every height of good and depth of ill... a mystery, which binds me still. From every height of good and depth of ill... a mystery, which binds me still. From the lightning in the sky, fried nerves, while streaking by. From the lightning in the sky, while streaking by. From same source, I have not taken. From sorrow, could not awaken. As other hearts, in warmest tone... if my life had love, I loved alone, I loved alone. From every height of good and depth of ill, a mystery, which binds me still . Oh yeah. From every height of good and depth of ill, a mystery, a mystery which binds me still . From the thunder and the storm that decimated my human form... from the torrent or life’s fountain, from atop the highest mountain, from the sun above, so old... it's warmth—too hot—baked flesh to gold.
Lyrical inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe's "Alone"
