it is always in a space
this temple i will build in the place at which i knew you
for my body is not templar and my gazing holds no grace
this tapestry i'll weave in the loom at which you labored
for your fingers were not charm enough to win a royal's day
i paint him with my artistry
i hide her with my shame
i cover you in fancy words
i know not who's to blame
rhymes fall at day's closure
their legacy so far from over
i lied for you and i'd do it twice
my throat does hurt but the tiling's nice