Quicksilver Clouds - Throes of Dawn

The hand that smothers all dreams

Can never be lifted

From your tormented lips

Flew the infinity of pain

Cut down the voice

And let the echoes rise

To those dark clouds above

That hate our freedom

Before the arrival

Of the final Silence

You wished for the bright, liquid fire

The coldest silver

Like the purifying rain

To take you away

To take you away

Down in your pit

Where your broken body lies

I stare into your silence

Your eyes reflect the sky

Far away

Out of your reach

Those quicksilver clouds