My body lies crumbled on the sand,
Like a dry leaf in the glow of dawn;
A shrivelled voice inside my head whisper’s something
- I could not make it out at first
- But then the voice cleared it’s throat, then repeated :

Each day is not a chapter
But a mere sentence
In a library for unfinished books
Called Cemetery

It was then that I opened my eyes,
Knowing that this was not going to be a sunny day...

And at night I looked for solace in the darkness
But found only emptiness...