Hope flies, it flies eternal,
Pitching, pitching this way and that,
It flies eternal,
Eternally flies hope.

The bastard mother clings,
Wrapped, it flies,
Clinged by white thorn legs,
Still flies eternal - hope.

Velveted thorns wrapped,
Without, within hope flies,
Eternally it flies,
Though wrapped, it flies.

Pitching, not invincible,
Immortal it soars,
West it flies, east as well,
Flies hope, pitching this way and that.

"Leave this hope,
Cling elsewhere,
Turn aside this velvet blanket,
You will not find your match,
No opponent here,
No glory, Mother."

"Cling i to you,
Wrap you in my belly,
Sting awaits, sighting for the kill,
Must you pitch? Tire you not?
Take it fast, quick with less pain,
No glory to pitch, east and west."

"I tire, i sleep,
Immortal i'll die,
Undead will birth,
Still you cling,
And wrap in thorns,
Is this your nature,
Armed Mother white velvet?"

"I am smarter than you,
Cleverest of all,
Glimpse through my pane:
There is no right or wrong,
No, 'What is',
There is only what i say.

You will not understand me,
You know not your heart,
You pitch and strike out,
But you know not what at.

Whence find you out,
Seizeth your pitch,
My sting you embrace,
Hold it closely at last,

Your flight IS eternal,
And passes from you,
Lie you cozed,
With white blanket,
Of velveten hue."