Chapter Text
Your coroner steps upon the land
With purpose in their stride.
The rigor mortis takes your hand.
You grasp the air with undue pride.
Your muscles seize and rot so slow.
Your temple festers with disease,
Bare skin frozen among the snow.
Your body slumbers. It is pleased.
Their finger lingers upon your pulse,
Seeking out that steady beat.
Your temple's empty of the waltz.
You're just an empty sack of meat.
Blood has frozen in your veins,
Or is it merely fast asleep?
A hollow city--empty lanes:
A hundred streets for you to keep.
There are no souls for you to meet,
And no more hearts for you to break.
Your last farewell--it tastes so sweet:
All the more to ease your ache.
But lo!--Sensation!--Uneasy lingers
Within the vigors of an empty dream.
You had the gun and pulled the trigger,
Mouth too occupied to voice a scream.
And yet, it seems, your ghost still feels--
Some part that longs to cling to life.
So play that tape to view the reel;
Rewind it all to live in strife
And wade through glass and broken dreams
Until the pain consumes you whole.
The light refracts through countless beams
To slice and cut and stab your soul.
The ship is fraught with empty sadness,
Buried in a whiskey sea.
To linger here would lead to madness--
To swim away, the death of ye.
Her siren's song calls you to light.
She'll leave you here to bask a while.
Her glowing lungs shine through the night.
Dei's false face lifts in gentle smile.
You grab her legs and drag her down--
Is letting go too much to ask?
If you hold on, you both will drown,
Catapaulting towards the porch collapse.
Is this not the death you've yearned?
You've pined so long to ease the pain.
Regardless, this is what you've earned:
Your sacrifice for what you've gained.
But, lo--sensation!
It drags you out from deathly sleep.
It fills your lungs with glassy air.
It billows in from off the street.
It howls into the silence here.
You close your eyes against the blast
And steel yourself to ease the ache.
Your organs sing in shattered glass.
You still long for your neck to break.
Await the death that's sure to come.
Your noose above's a swirling vulture.
Multi-colored thoughts subcumb
To all the arts that echo culture.
But, lo--sensation!
A pounding ache against your brain
That leaves you reeling and off-tempo:
A man is here, half-you the same,
To drag you from your self-made limbo.
You grasp the air with empty pride.
Whose life is this for you to squander?
Her face has fled from you to hide,
Off into that wild, pale yonder.