In the quiet times, when night's hush has fallen, the mind's eye seeks to find redress for the wrongs of the day, and black are the errors of my twisted ways. The mirror of my life reflects in your eyes, and I loathe the hateful truth of what I see there-- my shadow of vile mediocrity that stains all I touch as I reach in vain for the things I cannot have. Apologies are for those who need them, your ears burn with the supplication for mercy from my blood-stained lips. Just another lash to my soul for which I will suffer-- the simple reason I chose to leave to spare you pain, and thus myself. The result is still the same-- an eternal torment on the Pattern's rack.