The blood and mild acid blue poison is flowing
The silences shriek and seek to fill the void
The gangs dressed in colors have gathered to gibber
And I bear it in my bosom…

The Missing are hung in the limbo of absence
The tasteless confession mocks regretting nothing
as distances shrink in the lack of perspective
And I bear it in my bosom…

The demons of darkness outweigh the alone
While Solitude haunts the bleak minds of the poor
Whose songs always end with “I love you in spite of”
And I bear it in my bosom…

The Harpent Moon’s madness is honeyed, is bitter,
is slung at the giants at the forefront of boredom
Asleep in their spokes as the hourglass empties
And I bear it in my bosom…

I wait in the risk of your muffled lines swallowed
In the shroud of forgetfulness hugged like a secret
A secret, a shadow on your lips your signal
And I bear it in my bosom…

Where are the Faithful Guardians of Day
Who open doors, extending mystery uncertain?
Who know in their bones death is destined to perish?
And I bear it in my bosom…

When nothing grows down to the second swift minute,
to die for the liar has become the anthem
of many deceived by that monster of madness
And I bear it in my bosom…

My every word spirals and echoes in darkness
like calcined bronze vectors that age in the rain
They shine like mirages in the palm of sheer beauty
And I bear it in my bosom…

It is suns set ablaze, so beautiful, bright
That the body believes in eternity’s promise
That it can contain and can hold all the sorrow
And I bear it in my bosom…

And it’s there on the cheeks of hope midst the high winds
that the tears of the outcast shall never say die
They’re collected and kept in the pure vials of anguish
And I bear it in my bosom…

For the desert is fertile, a woman rejoices
For flowers that puncture the world’s useless armor
And rain radiates from the deepest soul present
In the jubilant psalms that spring from the ashes

And I bear it in my bosom.