It’s love, it’s love for not having to think of life,
a mere mortal strife under your boot
behold! the dark clouds are breaking
under a pastel sky with you in this cure

(it is a tumble through the pillows of an eternal slumber)

It’s a wedding, it’s Ascension
we’re in for a godlike suspension
what children of abandonment we are

holding out our heart to the stars
ready to build us a crystal tower
to embrace what we have left of the power

Getting rid of the aching that is overtaking us all
history in the making, a history of forsaking
what is left of the cure, a hollow but for ourselves?
a carcass scavenged by the disease