Breathe into me your love of color
Foolish trap, now on black hands and knees
An atonement that is not much smaller-
than the lies whispered in the chilling breeze
Uttering words that the sprites reciprocate
Foolish beasts, now circle me with white dark
Shedding my color, drop by dop; au fait-
with the predisposed and present patriarch
I\'ve prayed and converted to this scale
Foolish me, a pleasure to them, I\'m sure
Fill my lungs with vantablack ink, exhale-
white; metal flavor, you twisted epicure
Breathing sounds a sense of relief in my lungs
Foolish monk, I alone have the gift of tongues