Machining from Monologue

mark of claws To teach us. Speak to us The language of vultures Woven towers, they grew As our maps became patterns Of what always had been Yet never came Oh how we tried not to fall And now fail to fall Now try to fail. And fall One will always build from the cinder we left White walls arise from a trembling ground We will not stay here in the reigns White walls arise from a trembling ground