You’re my Anathema, child. And I love it like the thirsty earth loves the drowning rain Now at last I have found a total enigma That uplifts my mind away from the pain. My thoughts are the fabrics of dying stars Viewed in distant galaxies They expand to hide and cover all these scars Crest and implode within fitful walls To be cast and forsaken upon these endless seas You know your song is broken but not as I, for Your derelict is the body and mine is something more Time heals nothing the tune stays the same So I want to compose a new song; I want to make a change. And I see how it takes you and that grandiose World that you tend to take me to without a second thought To make me realize those echoes of strange material from which I was wrought A compassionate person, a tactful child, someone who was not that cold ghost The solitary soul to sweep you away without moment’s notice and it’s the most You’ve ever thought of obsidian until you realize. It’s just a shell. So the angels wept once more, child.