Here I stand facing liquid glass,
the flowing of the faces are haunting out my past.
Stepping through the mirror to face my pulsing fears,
I pass the corridor of the damned, and collect the angels tears.
The price of pain I caused is peeling away my face,
the features that catalyst the sorrow, are crumbling with pace.
My bright blue eyes become grey stone, and wrinkles invade the smooth.
The sands of time begin to rush, as the angels cries are soothed.
The scales of justice begin to balance, as retribution hangs.
I see the writing on the wall, and written red across my hands.
I find myself truly redemptive and understand my wrong.
The angels recognise my growth, and begin their final song.
Suddenly the corridor falls, baring an empty room.
It's the attic of the house I live in, my face is back in bloom.
The mirror holds a sheet of the future, a warning in advance.
I take my errors and correct them, and start my second chance.