Taylored pockets fit for the poor.
Fit for helpless men wandering lonely and lost.
To shove away nostalgia.
Incompetent loose bodys trailing willfully into two worlds.
One remembered.
One forgotten.
Spitting dust at winter.
This is Deaths sunset.
But in the end even Death him self will perish.
Buried in bones.
Buried in blood as far as an eye can see.
Swimming in an ocean of ice
That liquidates into darkness.
To create a fallout ocean.