You burned a hole like the sun,
darkest light, shining bright
in our eyes.
You dug a hole that fills with life,
careful and slow,
in our hearts with a knife.
I wish your god was real
I know he would punish you.

Your tombstone reads:
"May he rot in death
as he did in life."

Sekhmet's breath
scorching your neck,
her wind runs red,
through your head
drunk with death.
You deserve what will be written.
I wish your god was real
I know he would punish you.

Your tombstone reads:
"May he rot in death
as he did in life."

Your death is meaningless.
As is your life.

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