I fall asleep, some dark nights, with these words singing in my mind. The past is not beautiful and my own darkness often beats me to my knees. When I'm there, staring into the haunted halls of my heart in despair, then comes the question all over again: "Could it be, that my worth should defend by the crimson-stained grace on a hand?"
And though it takes awhile sometimes, to hear the answer, it always comes and it never changes:
I fall asleep, some dark nights, with these words singing in my mind. The past is not beautiful and my own darkness often beats me to my knees. When I'm there, staring into the haunted halls of my heart in despair, then comes the question all over again: "Could it be, that my worth should defend by the crimson-stained grace on a hand?"
And though it takes awhile sometimes, to hear the answer, it always comes and it never changes:
Yes.