In the sky, its celestial face does not move,
all emotion represented within its gaze.
Terrain like a decrepit hand, all resistance is spent,
its skin flaking like ash in the wind.
The relic, now with the lost man within his tomb.
Its descent is slow, time not yet its burden.

He prepares to drain the life from the lost mans heart.
The black temple cascades over the forest top, the rain is spent.

Moving slow through the air, the ground is a detailed view of the skeletal remains.

Dismounted the entity enthroned in astral armour,
discovers the lost man.

Draped in dead skin, transparent to the bone.
Next to him the relic.
With its golden face still counting.

In micro movements it etches out every second,
the ultimate downfall of the lost man, and all the others.

The relic, giving the entity the same fate
Every second represented in time.

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