Folded like heaven, gleaming like hell,
wings of black feathers are spread.
Beauty confined to the shadows inside,
he weeps for those that are dead.

With ebony hair and ivory face,
his wings are beginning to shine.
Glides out of the ashes and into the night;
and flies for the very first time.

For years he has listened, silent and still.
Dawn will bring heartbreak and song.
The angel drifts in a wasteland of dreams,
searching for where he belongs.

Crimson the morning that calls him away,
weighted the wings of dark gold.
Heavy his heart that is breaking inside,
tragic his tale left untold.

He will rise again, airing beautiful wings,
delicate, subtle and strong.
The mortals will cry as he flies through the night,
cut by the love in his song.

 
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