How much can you see through this foggy, fucked up window?
How far can your eyes trace the mountain through the clouds?
How many turns will we place upon this path
That is made of scattered stitching,
Tattered patchwork in the light
There is color staining grey, and I welcome the departure
There can only be so many ways to bring the dead to life
I hope it will not injure, but it surely cannot heal
As the fire burns,
The glass divides,
The smoke is sending signals
Like ravens in the night
As the fire burns,
And the glass divides,
The smoke sits on our blackened lungs
Like ravens in the night.
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