His altered perception saw the shadow maker

You would call him deluded, you would call him weak

You would take his freedom and bury it

Still trapped in the lie which you cherish

You would not know.

Blood on his shirt,

All intention to hurt.

He lied, love died,

She eternally cries.

Before I budge an inch

I hail aurora with a pinch;

After three cups of morning tea

A pinch most grateful is to me;