The Suns a setting!
Nyx will twirl with doom
Inside a shimmering sky.
Cemetery ghosts,
Howling, and hopeless;
Chilled from pearly wings to swarthy ashes
And permeating like smoke became of them.
Death, opaque with an exact scythe,
Pierces thick into the grave the macabre
Strangles me and
Leaves angry scarlet scars on my neck...I'm
Paralyzed like out of the womb.