This Shroud of velvet roses, blooms
Completes the sound and crescendos before noon
The older threads, reach out to desert air
Through dust, they flail and are ensnared

This ancient light reflects the glassy sky
In return is seen the golden snake
Out from it's mouth pour dreams of silenced songs
This shroud is only what may come

For all is known are dried up yesterdays
Meadows out the windows warm the scene
As the wind goes mad
The Sun, silent, shimmering; fades

And every beam that beats the cloth is vague
As silver smoke creates a ladder to the sky
From the hood, are slow and moving ghosts
One by one, they return to the host

Is it real?
As the shroud begins to slip
What is seen begins to fade away
The sky reflects the mind and the sand begins to clear the day
Without hesitation flies the summer's sweet sensation
The unveiling of the end