Lost in the over-painted wall,
Angels muted by taste and time,
Glowing beneath the dust of centuries,
The brilliance of the Renaissance,
Crouching in ready to be reborn,

Lost in her over-painted face,
Smiles bridled by life and lines,
Burning beneath the ash of defeat,
The magnificence of the agonies,
Chafing in its own Repetition,

And she's waiting
for the reason to come,
She's making a map
and she's making a rhyme,
She's trying to get up
But can?t get it right,
Taking the panic
And doubt to her heart,

Locked forever in wasted marble,
Forsaken by the only master,
Restored beyond all recognition,
Finished to death by the lack of omission,

Locked forever in statue emergency,
Forgotten by hands that once held her fast,
Abandoned to her imperfection,
Ignored in the name of Papal commission,

And she's waiting
for the season to fall,
She's taking a nap
And she's taking her time,
She's trying to give up
But can't get it right,
Taking the scenic route
down to the morgue.