The outcry of the pasts gone by
Screamed softly in my head
A paradox I can't deny
For sense had gone to bed.

And still I sleep upon my shoulder
Nothing to lay at rest
Searching for the hills, I wander
To find what I detest.

The detested burned the souls down under
Reaping love, life, cheers and breath
Everything had gone asunder,
With nothing but a single epithet

*Death