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Nothing (The march of death)

de Mourning Beloveth

A figure of despair
Staring into the nothingness,
Lost among life suckers...

So small standing by the ocean
sensing the rain, worn out from
A storm of rage.

I have succumbed to sorrow,
The hoary darkness
And the All-consuming silence,

For i had such hopes and dreams,
That fell like Vapours
Throug the summer air

I had such thoughts,
Thoughts that would crush Mountains
And blunt the very daggers to my heart
And yet the mere sliver of hope
Sent to the corner of fire

My bones
Are weary
Weary from this malignant mortality
We hold on to
With such grim despair
That it becomes
All-consuming...

In the glowering sickly green depths
Of my misery, drank deep textures
Grotesque ecstacy, elementary splendour
Reminded of labyrinthine intricacies
The squalor, the bewildering diversities
The squalor, the lonely existence
The squalor, the bewildering diversities
The squalor, the lonely existence...

A journey
Through a half dream
Each step a death
To slip right through
The cracks unnoticed
To pause the question
The meanderings of time
The grey vastness
We hold on to
The Glum adhesive
That binds us through
No!

Hark!
A football,
The march of death.

A hollow call to arms
From the grave, from the grave...

A curator of dead souls
Brings us down

Is it a shadow of life or just some vision?
Apocalyptic dreams...

Hark!
A curator of our dead souls...

Who is it that walks so solemnly right through the graves?

Is it a shadow or just some vision?
Apocalyptic dream!

Tracing patterns to bring us down
To bring us down

Who is it that walks?
The march of death!

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