The eyes attempt to deny the angel,
It hides beneath thy lampshade of shame,
It coils the eyelids who fight when able
Weak-skinned blanket to a sword of flame,
Vanity hath swayed thy own laziness,
Crippling the course that remisses peace,
Dull the senses that imparts craziness,
Forthwith, an angel's vigor unleash.
He stands, turns it out, an angel is gone,
Then sun's ten thousand swords, for now, 'tis dawn.
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