Glass frozen eyes,
The Northern wind
I'm carved in ice
A Mannequin
My Stoicism of grace, despite
A craving rotting from within
The decorations changing fast
The vastness of the howling wind
Along the path I break at last
This is my lament, this is my keen.

The vivid lies
The love unseen
I rarely burst,
I scarcely dream
Of all the homes that I could lust
Adopted here, blind king.
Attempts to run,
The desperate springs
So many winters, impotent springs
The last man standing's stiff and dim
This is my lament, this is my keen

I've gone astray
I have no kin
And those with whom I share the blood
Keep me from drowning, not redeem.
I heard it all,
Yet nothing seems
To shut it up-
The doubt within
Atrocity governed by whim
Still drifting down with a stream
Glass frozen eyes
A mannequin
This is my lament, this is my dream