Mourning - The Obsessed

Not wear black

Be it not of the same faith

Living trials can’t be won

In the end the hands will be held back

In the eyes September sun

The magic’s gone

Tempting fate with the surest of hands

Come to be a profession, to walk with

You in a mind of many lands

Has been my sole obsession

The magic’s here

Always cherish and always hold

Not in health but in sickness

And in the realm when all is said and told

There is no equal likeness

The magic’s gone