Around me are the colors of defeat,
They drink with me and contemplate my wine,
I never thought that I with them would meet,
Yet bound am I in chains of crimson vine,
A streak of white erupts into the wind,
An iron heart sinks deeper in the ground,
A siren calls collecting those that sinned,
A drummer rolls without a single sound,
What I had thought was only but a dream,
Escaped me on a winter’s afternoon,
And just as things are never what they seem,
The frost will come and sink my air balloon,
A shame, it is, that finally when we meet,
Around me are the colors of defeat
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