There are some wounds that can't go untreated
But even when they are treated it doesn't make a difference
Because the pain has already embroiled its mark upon the host's soul
Feeding upon its strength until there is nothing left
Causing the sorrow to spread like spores as it claims its next victim
They're all dead now
Nothing more than a pile of empty husks clinging upon the dust
Slowly fading away into the wind
Until even the empty husk no longer remain