Maybe its the vine because it wines and tightens
and it constricts and lifts

thats the feel of the feeling
the sound of the orange peeling
and the inner surface revealing

maybe its the amber and the ember
in September

the burn of the world, that burns as it turns

the ash of the lash, of a flash, that never lasts

you burn but turn to nothing
no mold, no gold, not a glass or a see thing

i think you are seeping, and i know you are aching
but once you were a king, and the throne is wating

the white sponge is dirty
in fact, it is black

the soul is corrupt and theres no turning back
the light is green and theres no going back
the enemy attacks within and you better watch your back

what good is a surface if its core is dissipated
but the muck of life has been long since created

cre, ated, she ate it, they ate it, the fruit

of wisdom, from knowledge, led by the brute

see, knowlege is power, but only of the behold
you never knew, but now, you are naked and cold

my soul was once firm, but now, it is draping
like the cloth of the man, my creator, was wearing

and this flame, it is burning
and its rage is urging, urging, urn
put the ashes in the urn, its time for someone elses turn

the voice is a whisper, but the sound is a lot crisper
i wonder why but only i can hear her
crying and sobing and lying in doubt
doubt, doubt, youve gotta let me out

humanity inherited sin, thats just how it begins
but blood met flesh, for you and my sins

see, temptation met adaptation in the seed of creation
living, and breathing, of a whole new generation

bring me some water, from the sea, of the dark
and put out my fire, and save me, like the ark