Voices call and keep me awake. I see a stone carved sing rotting in a deep silence, as deep as in the womb once. Fog makes emptiness vaster as mute feathers fly away hidden under the dark cloak of
The ashes of the feelings past
Circle the holy fire of my soul
Which only breeds just smoke and dust
About the Great Sleep in the hole.
Dying each day
I see my burning ashes,
Fading away as
Alas, the sky is bright...
I keep hearing voices from the past and in my wake i darken. I am sinking inside myself as into a grave.
In a depressed expectancy i scream in pain but it never seems to