Oh, ghosts of old and spinning smoke,
From crystal globes and fires crack,
What of your glee you paint for me.
Some tears to choke,
Some salt held back.
A sun, a moon, a waltz of stars,
The silhouettes of all their eyes,
Some came too soon, some left their doom.
A sword of mars,
The love of mine.
A ribbon given for the rite,
My blood be taken on a knife,
Warmth, a feeling long since past,
I gaze through holes,
I fall in those.
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For The Weeping Angel
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