|
Blank page after another |
|
This tale has long been 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 us 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 is 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 |
