| Why does this morning feel different from all the others
|
| The hand that once gave life has begun to smother
|
| From within my lungs the air has been released
|
| And I cannot feel the chill in the morning breeze
|
| Yet I am at ease…
|
| For me, there is no warmth left, even in the sun
|
| Safe from the earth, this crest will be undone
|
| Naked and alone, upon an altar made of stone
|
| I fear has become final throne
|
| Upon the third circle on the first day
|
| Where nothing moves but the daevas in the wind
|
| The wind bears a silent calling to mountains far away
|
| Summoning the birds of prey
|
| «On the second day, the vultures came
|
| The beasts of birds, the sentinels of decay
|
| Deeper each day, they tore into my flesh
|
| Feasting upon my loins and the insides through my chest
|
| For days it lasted, until they ran out of meat
|
| Leaving behind only bones for the sun to bleach»
|
| Upon this silent altar, upon my dreamless bed
|
| Leaving the world bereft and the vultures fed
|
| Slowly all will be gone that has ever signed to me
|
| As the remains quietly wash into the sea… |