The path, it is crooked;
and all that I look at
is bent and skewed on review.

The path, it is broken;
and all that is spoken
are lies based on truths I once knew.

The path, it is vacant;
and all that is sacred
wouldn't do to move the fool.

The thin veil before
the form of forms falls away
is nothing, if not a negative thought,
lesser than even the grave.

Could investigation of this situation,
yield anything not known?

Or would observation of this reservation
reveal the specters dancing below?