In a fractured, tormented soul...

It has been said there are many rooms.

But some prefer, I think...

To forever call them tombs.

Poor spliced-trashed souls wander motionless...

In some stench-filled graveyard not of God.

Frozen in time, left for dead by an icestorm...

Pierced through by the icy daggers...

Of the darkman's cruel & jagged rod.

Counted amongst the "Frozen Chosen"...

In soul cages of their own or another's making...

Plans not yet set in motion...

Barred from you by paths not taken.

Take these soulish tombs my Lord...

Through the thick darkness...

Surrounding your incredible light.

Rolling away the stones...

That make their days forever night.

Give them eyes to see...

All that is not readily apparent.

Let the scales fall away from their eyes...

That make them spiritually errant.

Lest they flounder as almost dead fish...

Barely afloat in a putrid pond.

Hide them in you at last then...

The darkman's dictates to abscond.

For the darkman is a legalist...

Yet your Law of Love...

There can be no law against.