What's in my fingers grasp I cannot hold,
And what my grip can break I cannot shake,
Seems how beautiful beauty can be,
Nor the man it could possibly make.

Like tempest broken hearts abide,
In the soul of the blacksmith,
A lone worker without a bride,
Forging what could be my myth.

The broken seal of love a ring,
The forest paves a broken quest,
Yet my heart forbade this song I sing,
Rest my soul comes never less.

Honor lost in forsaken death,
My hands bloody of transgression,
Guilt abiding in a peaceful body,
What pain dwells in arbitrary obsession.