The hollow, dry, unfeeling rain. It falls though me and shatters my heart, brings me back to you... Why, you will not let go of me. I am unable to rest, your hate, twisted wanting and love chains me here. The poppies weep, and their blood lends no comfort to the ground. And so my presence, you claim will help you, for the poppies lend no comfort to those whose tears fall upon their petals in rememberance of the dark past.

Even blood drys.
Even hate subsides.
Even love, lingers.
Ever my forgiveness, dwells.

Oh, will you not, set me free?

Death is crying...... for me?
Weeping death, Crying Death, my maker. Towering sorrow, is your name. Lingering darkness. Thundering hooves. I will put poppies on thy grave.

Listen to my voice, listen to me.
I am here, I am here.