Kind solace in a dying hour. Such, Father, is not my theme, and not my dream. I will not madly deem that power. I have no time left to dream. And, now, you slip away from me… Know now here, secrets of spirit. Bow from time I spend in shame. Father, quiet me. Father, quiet me. Did I inherit thy withering memory, endless relearning, a guilt around family, a mystery… unending. Unending. And, I love you, for all you were and never were as you slip away without a cure.
Lyrical inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe's "Tamerlane"
