Twisted ink cuts at the pages of the ever masking book.

Faded by age, then lies and soon memories.

Eyes open, cries are heard but you never look back.

You change the writing in the book of the past.

The winds hollowed, the trees turned away.

The lovely lands all come to a disarray of pain.

"What have you done?"

Voices in the wind call out to you.

The grey faces of echoing dance fire upon the lights.

Trapped in the page you dyed so deeply.

The lies you have written will not be shamed by you.