Bleeding Gean - Part II

A broken heart of a musician

In shifting sense they commence,

Through forest of dew and mist

Fein I'm trapped into what seems

To be the leeway of my dreams

Night dwells the shimmering light,

It is cold although it's bright,

For in the urge of pressing mess,

I dance into dour distress,

What else before coming woe? 

I can do, but mutely grow,

Fond of the fateful and grim,

In raptus of my haunting sin

A melody has sought its way,

It can't any longer stay,

It bids farewell to my bleeding gean,

Descending in a gothic scene,

But the crowd makes no applause,

The actor takes a sudden pause,

The blood is real, it's his own,

But he will never atone.