years of grace (Billy Corgan)

little survives what time has passed by
my years of grace mistaken for lost wanderings
no more alive than a remembrance stained in your sufferings
my years of grace deliver proud

at last rest stumbles, so pull your covers tight
to whom do I speak thru echoes threadbare
what survives the rush of the profane
and their words mere dust one swallows to believe

true poets dare listen to the stars dead and cold
I sold you out for moonbeams dying to shine
illuminated by what has survived
and years of grace to come