• Wipe clean the slate of my mistakes
    and watch with glee as morning breaks
    I gaze upon a mystery
    and ponder naught the power of three.

    All Glory to the King, that magnificent man
    who holds the Golden Fleece upon his Lamb
    to watch your faith evaporate
    and pray upon your soul to hate.

    The world around me withers to dust
    Even I betray my trust
    if there is nothing left for me
    Surely there's a better place to be.

    I'd rather die than be erased
    My deity has become two-faced
    I worshiped her as God and life
    yet in return gain naught but strife.

    I take my final breath this hour
    but you should know you had the power
    to carry me on wings unfurled
    and keep me here upon this world.

    Yet you forsake me to this night
    leave marks upon my soul, a blight
    to all creation, I cast away
    the sin of hope, the break of day.