Texty: Novembers Doom. Amid It's Hallowed Mirth. Bestow My Desire.

:
My hands are bound, by the sound of a bell. A chime I cherish and
respect. A divine song, played upon my chest and echoing through
my soul. Not a voice, nor any angel can bring me to my knees
faster, then the softness of it's touch. Drowning my strength, as
it turns into my tears. Weakness prevails as I'm swallowed deep
into trance. Whispering tones, emerge from my bliss. They surround
my heart in gold. To only touch the physical side would lock me in
for eternity.