There in the West waiting for one embrace
that no doctor or sunset could ever give
where copper trails of cloud do burn
above this slow spinning rock that awaits her return
it's been in the air since razor winter was born
her name as a cliff over a screaming cape of storms
and every piece of your life...
meant something wonderful to someone
this is what we were once made of
this is our six senses and seven wonders
another cursed number
is that all there is?