As I look in this mirror
I can see in my own grey face
Drown inside. But more,
I can see them, delicate as a lace.

Seven little angels, in a locked wild berry garden,
Their whipped are hands shaking the warden.
Smiling through their shattered teeth,
Who yet to taste sin's fruits, but tasted his leafs.
Clicking with their nectar stained tongues,
I've kept all true feeling locked for too long.
Ready to seize the small garden gates -
And erupt into the soul, where they can sate

And this voice keeps crawling into my mind,
They keep whisper through their fissured lips,
This soon will break through those shrined
Promises and will take from the sin itself a sip.

And when I'll be tired, I'll lay off the rules,
It will be like falling into the wool,
I'll let them to brake out of the garden into my own
Soul - "Welcome my sinner child, welcome home"