In childhood the maze is built
A winding way the senses forge.
Tunnels formed from light and hearing
Leading unto a sinful gorge.
Redemption, religion, rebirth
The holy cloth false feathers make.
And wax of sprirt is the gum
Freeing wings lay out life to take.
A smell rebreeds the memory
Of life he lost, a life of sight.
The Godly wax begins to melt,
Proceed towards the blinding light