Those words that you spoke, they left me wounded and broke. Both my heart and my wings, now I must glide on machinations and things. Remember how I used to fly, ever onward, towards heaven and the sky? I soared on the winds of a false love, like a tattered, old crow or a scarred, gray dove. Why couldn't you leave those words unspoken, my heart and my wings unbroken? Like Icarus, with his false, bronze wings, I rely on these lifeless machines.