| Blank page after another
|
| This tale has long bee through
|
| No ink left in the bottle
|
| The quills all cut in two
|
| No words left unspoken
|
| No deeds left untold
|
| Only white space unending
|
| Filling our dreams of old
|
| They say all hope is lost
|
| And this should make as sad
|
| But how can one lose
|
| What one has never had
|
| And in the face of Death
|
| My tears have long ran dry
|
| For I have come to submit
|
| What the world still denies
|
| Blank soul after another
|
| The pulse has long since died
|
| No life left in these vessels
|
| Cold stares in empty eyes
|
| And from our breed of tyrants
|
| We will be the last
|
| For the coming final season
|
| Has already passed
|
| They say all hope is lost
|
| And this should make us sad
|
| But one cannot lose
|
| What one has never had
|
| And in the face of Death
|
| My tears have long ran dry
|
| For I have come to embrace
|
| What the world continues to deny
|
| There will be no epilogue
|
| No final words upon our stone
|
| For in the fabric of our Time
|
| This future has already been sewn!
|
| I know the world id dead
|
| In veils of funeral clad
|
| For it has long since lost
|
| Whatever pulse it had
|
| And in the arms of Life
|
| These veins have long ran dry
|
| Best to embrace the scythe
|
| As we lay down and die |