Burn this house of lies and its gilded secrets.
Burn the ground they walk on and let their children
Cry until all of their dreams drown in tears.
And don’t be sorry – the shadows don’t feel.
And don’t be holy – the first snow will bleed
And lead you into a new labyrinth
Where you’ll be as lost as you’ve ever been.
Raise the dead of your vivid memories,
Invoke the black clouds from your reveries,
And sing for the infernal rain never to stop falling.
(At midnight, we’ll turn into reflections of our pain.
In the morning, we will pass through the mirror.)