And she who danced upon the darkness,
breaks and thrashes on the floor.
Throwing fits of rage and fury,
torn and sundered to the core.
Blistered through and through with wonder,
blasted from the roles of fate.
Ripped and wretched for a moment,
crushed with woe upon the gate.
No paraiah is more vanquished,
than who buck the will of time.
Seeking but to make a difference,
though ‘tis an eternal crime.
Oblivion wreaks its torment,
to creation, every one.
It’s an engine of destruction,
unconcerned with all it’s done.
So she writhes in silent timbre,
Jerking through those lives untold.
And she wracks the chains of nightmare,
of the timid and the bold.