The mountains flow along the sand, they wait in silence for you. Command upon the depths of the mourning soul searching for a way into your pale sandy eyes, vibrant green eyes tearing the veil of reality and flesh along the silent song of life that flows through time. -Do You Hear?- I wait for the darkness to creep, to stoop upon my door, to dwell upon the silent sands failing, falling, never before in that place. -Were You There?- The glass is shattered with a dream upon the nightwings of an angel, summoning, summoned forth with the power of flight, the brightness of night, the darkness of light, fleeing right into the ghastly plight of your soul. In control of the mourning son, the morning sun, in the mooring sums up its gifts to daytime and nightlight, turn right, for playtime is not for the chosen. Take flight -Do You Dare?- take wing again and sing the soul’s cross cry in the mourning night, the morning sun approaches. Does time follow you or do you follow time? Have you committed some earthly crime? Take a seat and pine again, search again, slow solely so that thy soul will surely show again. Take thy crimes upon thy heart, under wing, and tear a part of you from you and bury back in the sand all thy desires and wants and needs and greeds. Take thy silent souls and silent sands, quench thy thirst with thy commands upon thy lonely veil of flesh and truth. Let water flow forth from the black isles in a sea of green.