Crimson paints the grey street
Others pass and look away
Another soul joins the fleet
To rendez-vous where the Rivers meet

More and more, more souls each day
Drift toward the mouth that never tires
Everyone must pass this way
Whether by accident, meditation, or decay

All to one, all à la pire
Marching to the saddest lyre
And keep stoked the ever-burning fire
Watch the smoke rise higher
And higher.