Sitting still upon the throne,
Beauty never fades away,
But the utter dark can leave a mark,
That calls chaos back to play.
Rotting one, the one below,
reflects the unseen side of glowing,
And the eternal snake is ever awake,
On the burnt side of that coin.
We know the price of death so far,
As the ferry man is rowing,
But not as much as a glimpse to nature of simpler things
The future, and the price of knowing.