Every flower just before

Down in the bowels of the palace
The basement dungeon becomes the throne

Every night in the middle of the ocean
A world undoes its black ribbons
All the boxes became birds

The bloody rust, the stains
Are songs of saints and angels

Down in the dungeon, in the basement
The cruelest cell conceals a chair
Of angelsong and spiritwaters

A small divine bird’s flight path
travels right through stone walls