Daunting voices call my name;
Each breath full of manic mirth.

The sunlight falls
Like distant snowflakes,
Dusting a golden plain
With an auburn hue.

As the sky grows dark,
I see less and less,
But hear more and more.

A crescent guillotine hangs in the sky
As I absentmindedly envision
These fruitful moments to be my last.

The mirthful voices once more,
And engulf me in their mania.
My head hits the floor
While my consciousness washes away;
As if it were an eternal shore.