I can see the ***** glass that is sitting on my sill.
All its moulding contents, look dying, dead or ill.
And the grime along the edge,
Of which seems quite foisty
Seems to be crawling
Closer. Simply just to meet me.  

I can hear the cries of every rotting, little beastie.
Every shout, every whisper. All sung so sweetly.
And the pleas for a saviour
All of which are futile,
Seem to be crawling
Closer. Simply just to meet me.

I can smell the corpses of the dead, old and new.
Soon one day, those corpses could be either me or you.
Then we pray for a saviour,
As Death draws near and close, He
Seems to be crawling
Closer. Simply just to meet me.

I can feel the dust that covers my skin and my clothes.
Although it has not been long, my time is getting old.
As I begin to decay
And my mind is not my own. They
Seem to be crawling
Closer. Simply just to meet me.

I can taste the bitterness from that glass on my sill.
I was wrong, it’s not the contents, but I, who is ill.
Life goes and life comes but He
Remains. Death still walks the Earth.
As it seems to be crawling. Moving.
Surrounding me. Simply just to keep me.