Grey skies, grey skies
Peaces out the hollowed eyes
Reds the heart, curls the hair
Lungs go deeper in the air
Chest is cleaning, sorting trash
Making room and burning ash
Calmly passions slowly boil
Becoming pure to know their toil
The mission will come when it needs me
And I am becoming ready
Calling, calling, I have come
To find it all or only some
Bit by bit another piece
Falls into its own release
Lonely, all my heart's desires
Old and holding ancient fires
The mission will come when it needs me
I am becoming ready
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