My voice is broken, wounded of thirst.
Alone in the valley of silent echoes,
I lie behind a wall, immersed
And torn between the clashing shadows.
My voice is broken, wounded of thirst.
I sear through the metal of your skin,
Immense in the timeless night and cursed,
Disturbed in the chains that wear me thin.
My voice is broken, wounded of thirst.
The fire that melts this stone to glass
Turns liquid like a wave, submersed
In the choral song of love’s last mass.
My voice is broken, wounded of thirst.
And though my tears will never stop,
My veins stay warm and ready to burst
In dreams that wash out drop by drop.
I dance among the smoke and haze,
Within the darkest depths of the mire
To open and close in countless ways,
A voice released from the knots of desire.
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