Under starless nights it comes alive
Born to preach as below dawns, they thrive
The gentle trickle of water, in their minds; echoing,
As the blindness of their eyes lay waste to their being.
Built upon faceless hills, by nameless beasts,
It grinds its claws on stone as on silence, it feasts;
Their twisted forms giving way as the others lay unseeing,
The own silence of their screams prone to drive into their being.
As they hold their muffled breaths, ignoring their despairing cries,
They dig deeper and deeper until space and soil around them flies;
Twisted and contorted in their now meaningless decisions,
The light above bids farewell as it chooses not to deepen in their creations
As the dirt closes in around and dust sting their eyes
They stop pounding on the futile hope that someone will save their lives;
Their shrieks of terror turning to voiceless moans as the pain remain
Scorning their rebellious thoughts as they fight to be the same;
And cling to their last fairy tales as their eyes adapt to darkness,
Prone to salvation, they fight for their deaths and lethal sickness,
As their souls adjust to the world’s true form and light,
The echos of their screams drown in the dawn’s smile in the night.