Staring into my own Face
No middle ground,
I see it - each time they drown,
in this ghostly memory:
I'm staring into my own eyes, across from me
Two sets of eyes i recognise all too well,
as they mourn the loss of the Fulcrum.
soft-wings, mourning,
silent, silver tears falling,
in silence, torn, confusion,
as the balance is tipped.
No middle ground,
I see it - each time they drown,
in this faded memory:
I'm staring into my own eyes, across from me
Two sets of eyes i recognise all too well,
As they mourn the loss of the Fulcrum.
The loss of the Fulcrum
