This glass cage seperates him from her warmth.
He beats against it's gale winds,
The frigid air cuts deep.
He won't last long.
He pleads with that ancient gate keeper
For one last kindness.
"Deliver these pieces of me"
She loves the brilliant reds,
But he's running out of paint.
She must never know,
When he is drained of everything beautiful,
The price of her galleria.
