For it is known
as the red gliding hand
wearing a leather glove
filling my body with sand.

Hitherto, a mortal cue.
I'll watch the stars
in search of signs.
The brightest light, he told me
it's in the tunnel at the end.

I didn't want to believe him
It couldn't be true
that when the clocks strike twelve
my body falls to crumbs.

Like bread with seeds
you'll spread butter over me
paint me black and
hammer my bones to a board.

Then, when the coffin lid shuts
Plunging my soul into the void
Will god lift me up?
with his red gliding hand

For now, i go...

to the mortal watch.
Where my cells no longer grow.