Passing over all the dark blades
All the dark blades of the forewords
In the forewords, just a low sound
Such a low sound passing over

Drawing closer, sheer horizon
Flame horizon, haze of morning
Magnets drawing over the forewords
Now entangle all tomorrow

Gone, gone, through crumbled fingers gone
Can never be recollected
All pastness gone to the crumbled dogma-ing past
Can never be recollected

Passing over all the dark blades