Misled troves on Sunday morning fly away,
I sing as I was the wind,
And burn like the fire.
Trembled cold ice lives in my heart,
Racing are my words.
They twine together as one,
But live together as two.
Roses that are gray,
And a ocean no longer blue,
The daze continues.
A bridge not to be crossed,
And a church not to be kneeled in.
Once at peace,
Resting for eternal bounds
Will then I live.