Stony-throat silence abounds in the air.
Paler than the deadest and redder than the East.
Corpse-white? Why?
With all the resonant timbre of a pit.
Sunset damages fade and falter under moon;
Merciful moon, mother moon.
His whispers fade away in soot and smoke.
Does it hurt him?
But the sun can only scream.
A recluse that impresses upon
the twisted-up alleys of refuse and scorn.
The able stance of the recanted morn
How does he bear it?
Resets in regal manse, white corpse adorned.
Treble curs't, and treble bound in woe.
Covered in earth and violet spring.
Zie sleeps in frigid earth and under stone.
Ach, ich... du... but who?
He treads lightly, but attends.
Aroused of the singular sun, he attends.
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