I lay there in my sancturary with a struggle for existence
The mankind in me is a prisoner of the past
There is only one way to find me, I will not find you
I lay there in my sancturary in a peculiar prolongation of infancy
Childhood is a period of immunity from the serious life
My passion for pain burns like fabulous yellow roman candles
You must follow the dark river
Do not be frightend by its shadowy vastness
You will come upon the gates
Allowing ever less daylight to penatrate
Hence the dark clouds
Ravens commence over the entrance
A dark feathered angel with a taste for blood
The immortal desires of the human heart are denied by reality
We stand there knocking on the man's door
I remain unconvinced because in infancy i tasted the fruit from the tree of life, I know that it is good and I never forget