Face the twisted bellicose crowd
I cannot withstand,
As this hope lies in its purest form,
I weep to the guillotine.
A being of spirit, lacking flesh,
Mourns the unreality.
So much is fading,
And is almost gone
Under the vines of apathy.
Flashes of static beseech
And clasp hands with cold love.
The lights behave with such candour,
Stifling the darkness within.
The sunset brings the call,
As a terrified, battered heart
Emaciates itself dry.
Music whispers in the graveyard,
My boundless memories
Endear themselves to me.
Such professional solitude,
An ambiguous illusion.
I’m just a fractured skeleton,
Transcending time with a smile.
Watch as I leave this plane,
Such an ethereal magnificence,
To behold one’s own sacrifice
Is a gift in itself.
This macabre symphony
Will die with me here.