Behind that door I con, not planned.
Still need epiphany.
And light from thinking paled me now.
I seek some honesty
And in that room there's fated stress,
As wrong things I have seen.
And in my quest no grace
There are woe lines which I must clean.

And though I hoped for nothing to find,
I could see my ill ways to mind.

In corridors same vulture sits
He rests on guilt revealed.
And with my trusty scabbard vow,
My hand will shake up deeds.
And though some cruel entrusting's made,
I won't be rendered shrill.
The plea did waft across my space,
And tried to shake my will.

And though I hoped for nothing to find,
I could see those ill ways to mind.
And though I hoped for nothing to find,
I could see those old ways to mind.

There's many doors, but no more time,
More ways to correct.
And though I thought the tears were due,
I'm peeved now I'm upset.
And as the tomb begins to crawl,
I see they're below, just too small.
And though they came with voice so sly,
They could not take care, only lie.

And though I wished for words that were kind
Up to me to make them refined.

And though I hoped for nothing to find,
I could see those old ways to mind.

And though I hoped for nothing to find,
I could see those old ways to mind.