Falling over the lip of the precipice
Into inky stillness
Where the heart sings dirges
Of the dead and lost souls
Holes poked through and dripping muddy waters
Like the sons and daughters
Of the god of decay
Rusting in the back of the pantheon
Running on down into the catacombs
Of black corridors and Minotaurs
Weeping for salvation
Red hearts beating on pikes in blue flames
That burn hot but no light
Nothing to bright the abject savagery of the surroundings
These things show no mercy
That hold old souls under rusted grates
Sluicing juices into terra firma
Thousands of feet below sea level