Album: A Great Work Of Ages (2010)

Pypes Of Psychosomatis

I brushed past a willow
And aught night be
Blackest pitch
It decided not its fare
Settling quietly
Back in commune

For the Song had changed
This hour
Father, thy sacred breath brings
Colors to my ears

I inspire of your creations

Golden demeans
The greatest treasures
Lay green and such
Tended by elfin hands
Lives blown in his harmonies

Aura and spine vibrate
In choral voice
Lattice-like pitches pass through
And build me a living ley
My being, the fabric
The point of return