Here you come, in a ritual gown;
descending the marble steps by the throne
Your taste is somewhat bitter and
sour, you look like a fat worm on a flower
Where you go, you leave footprints on the snow
And springs come from underneath your feet;
I'd like to dissolve in the flow,
Yet something repels me
What that is I don't know...
Where you go, I follow and sow the questions –
Is this the something we were looking for?
Or is it something that we left behind?
This is the form, in which I submerge myself,
And you keep telling me I'm doing fine
The perfect tactics to confine