Chisel the stone, inward there you go.
Pretty soon you’ll learn there’s nowhere left to go or turn,
The halls, the mirrors, the chains, the fears
and breath you’ll hold.
But the crowning queen, well she’s spinning like the world,
And she goes on and on, she goes.
The teller of tales of stories long forgot,
He’s still speaking in tongues and he’s rolling in the plot
with a wheel that spins, without, within a heart of fire,
With his breath upon the embers as the flames grow higher.
And he goes on and on, he goes.
The truth can die ever so young,
Reborn upon the beds
of the dying tongue so many have sworn
for all truths to be said.
Night it falls upon desire where forgotten dreams can be seen.
In our eternal flames and fire our bodies wax and wane.
And it goes on and on, it goes.