Lift, lift your head.
Myth, so pristine and white with age.
Walk with me, speak to me.
Saint, I don't know your name.
But your voice is so strong, it speaks through the gla**, speaks through the ground.
An empty phrase, a hollow sound.
Calm, quite severe.
Lead the throng, your mind so clear you feel no pain, an end so near you taste the blood.
How long?