Marching off to the abyss with a fallen face
to be gone forever and lost without a trace
filled with discontent felt for losing the race
tired, legs are dead, can't keep up the pace

coffins inside of a coffin, a horrendous fate
suffering, sentenced to dying at a slow rate
too proud to end the suffering, so they wait
like broken and lost angels standing at the gate

dragging feet heard through the grapevines
sifting through the same obsolete lines
sitting on top of their own last human signs
not even moving as their hope declines