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!