Act III: Arrow
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15:39
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1. |
Act I: Portents
03:39
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2. |
Act I: Petrichor
06:23
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Look at me; your eyes are drifting to the floor…
Show me the worst things in your heart, but beat
a bit more.
So, have we reached a point of bliss?
Or of sin?
Drops of redemption pierce my skin.
Wings be your guide, but they’re made not of feathers but pills
Icarus flies, for this modern day Lazaran thrill.
Is that what you need?
Is that what you need?
Look at me once more,
Never end this dawn; it’s
Coming as a watercolour
Painting our descent.
Look at me, your soul
In this midnight smoulders,
Lustrous as an ember
In the midst of a squall.
In petrichor…
In petrichor…
These cheeks beneath the waterfall,
I’m left infused with petrichor.
If that’s what you need,
Then cut to stem the bleed.
Suture all this rust…
Preserve these signs of us.
As you cast yourself in this sunrise
And seal away your amber fate,
A fragment of a roman wind
Might blow a different way
And love might win, if you let it in.
Look at me once more,
Never end this dawn; it’s
Coming as a watercolour
Painting our descent.
Look at me, your soul
In this midnight smoulders,
Lustrous as an ember
In the midst of a squall.
In petrichor…
In petrichor…
These cheeks beneath the waterfall,
I’m left infused with petrichor.
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3. |
Act II: Travails
05:00
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Spake the seraph that these seeds do cast our page:
Hewn from wood this paper music echoes age.
Grown as a sapling in this mind to write the tale,
And left, in the sun to dry the page.
We sing shanties to ashes told by bards of fickle aim
lest be the words wasted, drowned in sea and sail.
Hear this lie, oh, as I the sentence cast
As words, on the sea to judge this fallen writer’s mast.
Yet love, I have earned myself this love…
Through my cowardice forged love…
As the zealot often does:
I consign myself to rust.
Travail these winds, that gust my soul through
As a wisp, my broken language apt for this:
To rake my fallen mind like this,
The truth will out but not forgive.
My understanding be too thin,
Within this mind a coward sits;
If all my words do fly amiss
Then pray that thee might yet forgive.
Pretence past, I give thee all:
This coward, chronicled.
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4. |
Act II: Empress
03:58
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She stands, her face against the stars,
Seven thousand candles all around her,
but their light is nothing next to her.
They say, the sun shines at her pace,
little knowing of the nebulas inside,
The raging orbits of her mind.
Oh Empress, Empress, Empress, Empress please!
Oh Empress, Empress, Empress, Empress please!
Somehow the Empress expressed an interest expressly in me.
Now, our hearts beneath the stars, she bequeathed on me a
Name befitting of my station next to her.
She stands in moonlit poverty, this blood rite elegy
It binds us in ambition, in romance, in starlit poetry.
She moves away from me.
These nebulas, just frame, the glory of her frame.
These candles in the night just illuminate her face.
Oh Empress and I, our ambition is our grace.
There’s a tyrant in us both.
We are ruled by gold and brimstone:
Touch thy Midas to my soul…
Novas firing in our hearts, we are children in amongst the stars,
Monarchs of ambition to these ancient lands outcast.
This burning life of ours, we reclaim our names
From solitary minds, the ones now running out of time.
Crowned within the light of stars, up above, our half-lives
Yet to become whole, and we as monarchs yet to make our home,
Children with ambition yet to find ourselves a land to call our own.
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5. |
Act III: Arrow
15:39
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*** Arrow of the Age ***
I… I think I’m lost in here… In this blind machination of my id…
And I ran for years, ‘long these streets of empathy bright
Lit by fire, or desire, I can’t tell which.
These moans have I heard for the longest time,
They decry all this motion from the pages of my life, oh,
As they turn through the years. I’m cleft in two, each mind imbued
With half of a man.
I atone.
Ambition still burns in both parts, for this name that I chose;
As an arrow of the age I have fallen at the close.
Now time, my cage, doth own me - Oh, these violent skies will throw me back…
Was I enough? Was I enough? Was I enough? What was I?
One day I’ll be whole.
Oh, one day I’ll be whole.
Oh, one day I’ll be whole.
Oh, one day I’ll be whole.
*** The Mind of Norton ***
Hark, betimes my eyes awaken
shame, this chasm of my making.
Oh, foretold my parchment wavers
Aged, like I. As dawn breaks, paper burns, oh I burn.
Oh, aspire to forge an amber throne
Yet built my castle: wood and gold, my
Rubble heart aflame as sunset coal,
I burn… Oh I burn.
*** Aira Force ***
Am I? Am I to this ancient land, outcast?
Stake I my life here; this burning life, my last.
Made here, reclaim here this name, I know as mine:
I be, incomplete, yet my old eyes guide me; this hearth be my home.
Am I? Am I to this ancient land, outcast?
Stake I my life here; this burning life, my last.
Made here, reclaim here this name, I know as mine:
Oh, be known, half-life of mine…
Know this, I know this; of solitary mind
Half-life or no, I’ll make known this name of mine.
Torn I may be, though my cause may yet be right
Claim this truth: I’m worthy of life:
Be this my land; find me crowned within its light.
Be this my land; find me crowned within its light.
Be this my land; find me crowned within its light.
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