Gazing up at this strange and livid sky, Ravaged and torn like your own destiny, What thoughts, sweetie reprobate, doth fill, Thy empty soul? Pray, answer me.
Insatiably greedy, you crave, The obscure and the uncertain, But I shall not bemoan like the devil When driven out of his garden of Eden.
No, my pride is reflected in the heavens, Torn and shredded like strands of rope, And in your vast, mourning clouds, I see the hearses of my dreams, dashed and broken.
Your flickering lights and sparks, Oh, how they doth enchant and delight, Reflecting the fiery flames of Hell, Where my heart doth dwell in unbridled might.
So answer me now, sweet reprobate, As we both stand under this tumultuous sky, What thoughts and yearnings doth thou carry, As the storm rages and the tempests fly?