• Fortunate splendor
    One vast and frozen breeze
    Hailed from western cloying core
    Passage paid in antiquities
    He who has
    Turned wine into gold
    Once steeled the ocean
    Held fast by Davy's breast
    Impaled upon the arrow

    Barter blessed with locks
    Hair strands strung in silver
    Bated breath, his savior mocks
    Blood ran whilst Sunday plates pilfer
    He who has
    Turned wine into gold
    Then felled creation
    Through quote and serpent's test
    Thus gorged upon the arrow

    Pursed lips inhale her
    Siren swears she suffers
    Mother, none such are purer
    Birthing ghouls inside the coffers
    He who has
    Turned wine into gold
    Raised in corrosion
    Fathered ghosts in black nest
    Bleeding upon the arrow

    Twice sticks resembled
    Sans felt twine and feather
    Of wholly vague assembled
    Restricted by breaded tether
    He who has
    Turned wine into gold
    Braced for implosion
    Poised high atop his chest
    Hanging upon the arrow