Die if it makes me feel alive
Find the echo of my wounded side
Pry my heart and start the bleed
In it's cracked, visceral seed
Light flickering the darkened past
Brush shattered memories made of glass
Refracting my empathy
Through eyes that can't see
The seasons of emotion
Have dried up inside
The seam that wasn't woven tight
Has fossilized
The pull of the archer
The moon's shimmer ruptures
The pull of the archer
The root of distraction
The pull of the archer
Is pulling me under
