Towards the rich archaic heavens
  Towards the lack diorama
  You are the artist and the texture
  That plays with mantle of the earth
  
  When the bleakest of powders
  Lie rooted to the starched stones
  And the roots that feed the peaking trees
  embrace the sleeping shores
  
  Archaic pearls of sleep and death
  The voice of December losing its breath
  And the floweryard of white and grey is haunted
  
  White as the down of flaking snow
  The heroic emblems of life
  
  Green is the colour of my death
  As in winter-guise I swoop towards the ground
  Green is the landscape of my sorrowfilled passing
  
  We Are In Flames
  Towards the dead archaic heavens
  We Are The Mantle and The Texture
  The alters the mantle of the earth