The fragile keep secrets, gathered in pockets, and they will sell them for nothing a cheap watch
or locket that kind of gold washes off. The sad at like lepers, they stick to the shadows and long
to ring bells of warning to tell of their coming so that the pure can shut their doors. The angry are
animals senseless and savage. They act without order in logical lapses, they stain their mouths
with blood. So take my hand, this barren land is alive tonight. The corn has grown stalks that
form a wall that hides. The wind carries sounds that I can't see from beyond that line. Then the
stalks begin to sway oh stay with me Arienette until the wolves are away. The wicked are
vultures, they bake in the canyons. They circle in sunlight and wait for their victims to collapse
and call to them. The desperate are water. They will run down forever and soak into silence to
just end up together in some dark and distant place. So don't leave me here with only mirrors
watching me. This house it holds nothing but the memories. And the moon it leaves silver but
never sleep. And then the silver turns to gray so stay with me Arienette until the wolves are away.
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