Sightless stalker, diminished blade—
I know not why I hunt.
Lamed vagrant, tongueless beggar—
I know not why I cry.
Writhing skin, moribund eyes—
I know not why I pine.
Scabbed in frothy, leprous hives,
I hide from a world that on radiance survives.

My sorrow extends beyond the firmament…
Ambition is arrogance;
Atrophying is all we know of life.

A grating through a diaphanous veil—
The gauzy years of sorrow.
We rise upon those scintillating times,
To assuage our lifelong loss.

Weary mind, interminable grief—
I know not why I live.
The sordid sun burns deeper still,
A thick bubonic singe—
That sneers at my weary brain
Like a severed hand.
The lamentation of the guilt
That breeds inside me
Lives under the grasp of duress—
In its malformed claw.

My sorrow extends beyond the firmament…
Ambition is arrogance;
Atrophying is all we know of life.
Ragnarok is come—
My savior; my scorn.
Under Mjollnir,
Let me die.
Ragnarok is come—
My savior; my scorn.
Under Mjollnir,
Lemme die

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