Assistance from within,
my patience wearing thin,
as I wait for a distant visitor.
Ceremonial trance,
am I begging for a chance to trouble the mind with my innocence?
It's only by default.
The prophecy's the song.
I have seen it somewhere else.
There's a painting in my head,
undivided by time and sentiment.
Feelings of unease,
will arrive by slow degrees,
when they're reading the final testament.
