If I looked after the earth,
I'd burn it in passionate flames.
Bones inherit the soil,
not left a soul to claim.

The scent of rotting flesh,
brings essence to the finish
Life becomes extinct --
& so has the world within it.

Rich in confinement,
I slowly grow deranged.
Soon am I to join them,
hearken shrieks of the claimed.

My name is a song to them,
lost to genocide's insanity.
The voices in my head would claim;
"It's soon to be your fantasy."

The grand rite performed,
& all has been fore-said.
I am to dine and dance --
with the souls of the dead.