How do rocks come to be hollow?
Painted too in joys and sorrow,
with the colors of the sky,
deep purple catches our eye,
and because of this it has some worth.

Does that same rock feel it's pretty?
Born of mud and dark places, it's so dirty,
why does it have to capture sight,
when it just wants to fade into the night.

Oh the beauty, all are caught in worship now,
but in it's center I see clearer, what is truthfully foul,
Sits in silence waiting for the world to fade away,
that stone so burdened by it's own weight can it really last
another day?

Sinking down into the bottom,
of the stream cooled by mid autumn,
with the dirty leaves accompanying it's sorrow,
floating on still, just wants the bottom, if only it weren't
so hollow...
But that's just the way it goes,
on down the river flows...

Thus weeps this silvered stone,
that's beauty, makes it worth to own,
but did it ever ask,
for just one petty grasp?
Never did it wish to be dirtied by there greed,
still it's claimed beauty and onwards the colors bleed,
all the while, my god how dirtied, how dirtied it feels,
on down inside beyond the cut up colors the darkness kills.

Assassin of the smiling pixie,
killer of the mystic-essence of the gypsy,
your touch is like poison to the breathing vines,
when you don't understand what's really possessed inside.

You kill beauty like it was out of style,
you make candy of every smile,
to devour without a care,
then toss aside what's left in there,
a cave of black damp decays,
that you've forced me stayed, all the rests of my wearied
days