Monday, October 6, 2008


In the early morning, before the sun has burned off the mists
The ravens fly searching for food, in a land fallen and ruined
So many dead and dismembered, the viscera spills upon the land
Runic symbols of an age left behind, the end has come too soon
Crying out for the loss of hope, the ravens stare at the bones
Of a world ignorant and decayed, mankind’s excess has doomed
Remains and residue forgotten wastelands of humanity
Although once mighty now entombed

The curse of flesh, immortal flames
Humans seek to escape their chains
But never do so without a cost
And never realize that that dream is lost

Who are we to beckon the fate’s cruel hand
Who are we to loosen the bounds upon our soul
Who are we to fear the remnant truths ignored
Who are we to lay in torment, our nature unfit to console
Who are we to rise above, the wickedness prevails
Who are we to exist, when we’ve dug a very deep hole

All at once the ravens leave, offended by the scene
Of a world abundant and glorious, fouled by the human disease
Of greed, hatred, and war, memories of which now are just a stain
A world once green now so harsh gray, nothing beautiful remains