Here you come, in a ritual gown; descending the marble steps by the throne Your taste is somewhat bitter and sour, you look like a fat worm on a flower
Where you go, you leave footprints on the snow And springs come from underneath your feet; I’d like to dissolve in the flow, Yet something repels me What that is I don’t know…
Where you go, I follow and sow the questions – Is this the something we were looking for? Or is it something that we left behind? This is the form, in which I submerge myself, And you keep telling me I’m doing fine The perfect tactics to confine