The peices are shattered---Mainly the ones that I miss...
I vainly remember apathy of capacity---a little wish I call life---
But I eagerly o'wait my destnies fate, for whom I can not o'wake;---
My shrouded world of hate...
Amplitude my forgotful mind, shroud my corresponding signs
Shrine my suffering past for the man,
With the clock like hands, will take that of what is mine;---