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Surging forth
From the source
The purest form of death
The currents that take us back to the end

The winter here
Like the last grasp of the hand
Of a dying friend
A scream in a whisper
Encircle the world and blacken its breath

This place
Exhales a poisoned sigh
Stare at the sun now
There may yet be time
To become mercifully blind

Do we return to the source
Or run forever with it at our back

We awake
On the shore
Of a decaying realm
Fallen to insanity
Follow the trail of lives that were crushed
A dethroned king will answer to me

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