"spill the wine"

Amidst the shadows of the cries,
of my morning fate of cutting,
coming out of my inner stripes,
freeing myself to roam out.

Between the cold steel of seas,
my eyes came out for the forming,
of the masquerade of sunlight,
blinding can never be real.

To spill the wine of the ghosts,
holy down onto the gleam shrills,
preachers afraid for the tiger sighs,
becoming of me to spill.

Shiny diamonds on glass,
stained on her fingertips of light,
truths of wheels jump on hearts of sun,
midnight left her to get away.