Distant thunder Shroud of grey To electric gods I pray Ivory tower Modern way Flowers wilt and colours fade Every night and every morn Some to misery are born Some are born to sweet delight Some are born to endless night The curator of a pale heart Dreaming of the days it had a pulse Framed in silver Raised in shade Fragile psyche born from pain A millennium in a day Graceful degradation of my faith From the shores of love I depart The curator of a pale heart Null and void