Staring into my own Face
No middle ground,
I see it - each time they drown,
In this ghostly memory:
I'm staring into my own eyes, across from me
Two sets of eyes i recognise all too well,
As they mourn the loss of the Fulcrum.
Soft-wings, mourning,
Silent, silver tears falling,
In silence, torn, confusion,
As the balance is tipped.
No middle ground,
I see it - each time they drown,
In this faded memory:
I'm staring into my own eyes, across from me
Two sets of eyes i recognise all too well,
As they mourn the loss of the Fulcrum.
The loss of the Fulcrum
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