Gratia In Morte

Head held high against the sky,
The soul has wings and wants to fly,
The heart is restless, beating fast,
"The breath from next shall be my last."

The wind is frost, the frost is ice,
The ice blows cold, a chilling vice,
Ungodly for to suicide,
Ungodly for to hell abide.

A stolen heart, a sold exchange,
A vast expanse, a toxic range,
A sacrilegious flame of death,
A sacrificial final breath.

The gates of heaven, locked and barred,
The sky, jet gem and onyx starred,
The athame, in silver light,
Falls down, en lies, upon the night.