Get Out of the Tower

Monstrous spire spears the purple

Mote of dust breaches tarnished portal

Far below

Of its own free will and accord

It isn't every day that a god dies

Or every age that a mortal tries

To reach the Terrace Immortal

World crawls around its axis

An endless search for a perfect season

Tower claws over the treetops

Over the apogee of suffering and

Into the watchful eyes of fallen angels

Watching from their holy places

Blessed art they amongst the brethren

Hero of the Hallowed

Minstrel plays the weakness of mankind

Upon bone horn and skin stretched over drum

A half helm fountain of wildflowers

A banner: cellar of salt over black field

Impotent in the breathless air

Suicidal stillness

Mote of dust flies from portal

In terror

It was never meant to be

Never, ever, ever meant to be