| No one could deem this an end
|
| Yet there is no grave for you to tend
|
| The feathers fell to dark intrigue
|
| A tell-tale praise — a solemn need
|
| Reconciled with torment fraught
|
| Swallowed down the throat of nought
|
| Your hands lay bleeding with regret
|
| The night when angels sorely wept
|
| The manic sea of smothered cries
|
| Ran in his blood, poured in his eyes
|
| Yet the unrest would pine away
|
| In solitude where death holds sway
|
| So this is how credence declines
|
| All words come down and laughter pines
|
| A vagrant god released from debt
|
| Discouraged yet — who will forget?
|
| Their failing stare — despondency
|
| The nature of his entity
|
| The heartfelt warmth of which they sought
|
| To brace comfort, he shelters not
|
| Black rivers dug into the earth
|
| Bearing out the human worth
|
| He owns no awe, no love to crave
|
| Only his death would have them saved |