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Pan in ""A"" Minor

de Lord Kitchener

Foreboding clouds, shivering above
Echoes of yore slow bleeding thine soul
Decaying perception, inward and above
I abide in torture, watching eons flow

Still tormented by the shards of truth
My shadow's falling through thy dreams
As your slumber had my spirit sealed
Yet I fear not void, but the thought of it

As I dream of doom, writing at your grave
We are Cruish-Nir, even though I'm last
Our time is gone, within flames of dust
On forsaken ground, I fear not of death

Bygone will be a writer's tear of lead
The darkest shade of a weeping word
Unspoken truth engraves your tomb
When lovers mourn the loss of Platon

As I cease to dream, on the sorrow's edge
Will I give to Charon, my will to create
Rotten seems the flower, blooming out of sins
I may be the last, but we're Cruish-Nir

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