During the rhythm of the night.

At heaven's door

no longer under lock and key

I crawl through her window,

her soul bares all,

and lurking in the shadows,

a goods train passes by.

Hundreds of arms outstretched,

extended reach out begging

while each track echoes

the beats of her heart;

they have no faces

I hear their cries

long into the rhythm

of the night.

As the train disappears

into the clouds of darkness;

in the garden of Eden

through wrecks and ruins,

- the ugliness of it all,

another fly is caught

in her web.