The memories roll by,
With haunting cold through the ethereal glaze,
Laced with poison whispers from beyond the Styx,
As blood and dirt assimilate to quench Pershepone's fix,
With fire flies he now strolls shrieking endless howls praying for a way to end these days,
As joyous children laugh and play on this exquisite day,
In the cradle of Autumn born of Demeter's tears,
In the blissful haze.