So many the same
So many without purpose
Who am I but an
Animated carcass
Instrument of
Infinite control
Inherit the
Throne of the soul
Searching for flowers
That once grew
Sifting through soil
And decaying roots
Wrong place at the
Wrong time
Hands shake at gunpoint
An uneasy truce
My limbs sink into the earth
Hands unfurl
Nails gather filth
A field of bones
I begin to wilt
Return to self
A cold winter's dearth
Instrument of infinite control
Inherit the throne of the soul
Return to red soil
Release from tumoil
Return to red soil
Release from turmoil
A vessel for my thoughts
And towering hubris
Accepting endless loss
Remaining useless
Return to red soil
Release from turmoil