Gentle giant, haggard mass
Can I dream of a world yet pasted?

In my dread I dream once more
To find my history lent to a whore
Can I find a kind word to bring me back?
Or is this what the past has left?

Tell me not for if I wake
And tired soul for god to take
A living husk of decades waned
Will be a labor wrought by pain

Heavens choir hear me now
For sunshines bitter in your clouds
Sing of God, our Lord on High
Strike me dead or fall from the sky

I dance for graceful angels near
For if you quake, you quake from fear
A spiteful tongue, your sure to regret
Your joyful greetings let to shit

Angels hate spit in their eyes
From those who loathe their peaceful guise
Riots are for the devils dear
And elegance for the angels tears