Bequeath me throes of expired passion,
I too want to drown out the past.
If I may lie here one more night,
I'll sell my soul in rations.

Unto a lord I cannot see,
I begrudge his airless stride,
with grace beyond what darkness reads
I scream foul with every chide.

But he hath not answered estranged melody,
as I sink into flaming sky,
for no one bears mind to the sanity
of a dampened summer mind.

I cannot see with eyes dried,
so let me live in droughts.
Soaked in ashes and dust once cried,
O Lord, I have my doubts.