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