The sky has eyes
to paradise,
and though my hand can't reach
the eyelid's light to breach
a vision of another world
in misty teardrops yet unfurled
its hid reflection still replies.
"The sky has eyes."

The eyes have skies
where rapture rise,
and like the lingering of a cloud
your stark reflection storms aloud
in notions never gone
and bowing yet to none.
And though my light can't reach
your hallowed hand to breach
the taillights of this vapid world
I hear a sermon here unheard
and hid reflection still replies.
"The skies surprise."