Within the frozen mirrors

of Arcadia and Earth,

the gelid darkness blazes

for all the light it's worth.

Take your sins upon your head,

a carnal mourning veil,

and stumble forward, weeping glass

along the torrid trail.

There stands a bridge to heaven

and a pool of clouded wax,

a pyre of torn petals

in blues and reds and blacks.

Shred your cloak into the flames

where Hell itself once stood,

and sink into the oil

as you sense the sandalwood.