There is a place upon this flat pallette like world Where the empty white of moors meets a spire like hill Sitting upon the scalp of this balding plane like an icy crown It watches the death of those who cease to die Under the dead luster of a million stars And in the shroud of forgotten howls I will fall knowing that the other side I will never reach But I begin to fade To join the calm and warmth of vacuity In the reassurance and comfort of fading With a million dead and empty stars