when you beauty dies and the hands of man//what my healing hands cant mend

i awake on the shore in iceland. cold, crystal blue water washes in and out with the wake - my hand palm down on the sand in comfort as it would lie on the belly of a dying beast. i am mourning the loss of a beauty so great.  we are past the point of redemption.

all man can see, he squanders/he slaughters

she devils to eat you alive

it wasn't him who came to kill me, it was his new her.