Fear begot the dark
lust begot the cage
lies the rage
and fury that devour
Frozen on a stark
specter of a stage
one last page
silent
in a violent murmur
Flickering and gasping
colors of the flame
breathe the name
of faith that he might save us
Tremulous and grasping
remnants of the game
cold and lame
tossed and torn
and lost forever
Oh, dream to put my soul at ease
Oh, hope to quell my thirst
Harbor me
Harbor me
Language of the chosen
to shine, to set us free
Harbor me
Harbor me
Though partly mad
the ravages of pain
once again
puts his pen to paper
Rendering this sadly
curious disdain
that would fain
take its leave
to grieve in silence
Still, in his heart
madness apart
shines the lighted
beacon of his art
Breathing and true
ever anew
as a shelter and sanctity
to point of view
Harbor me
Harbor me
Sentinel of reason
who nothing will immure
you will endure
every storm and sorrow
Weaver of the season
dreamer of the pure
you will enure
to every scorn
and thorn and arrow
Oh, dream to put my soul at ease
Oh, hope to quell my thirst
Harbor me
Harbor me
Language of the chosen
to shine, to set us free
Harbor me
Harbor me
