ghosts of yesteryear linger
on where no man thus travels yonder
listless relentless incessant
inherit the thoughts which we ponder
vultures their concentric flight
eager to taste the first bite
yet the agent of death takes his time
opportune at the perish of light
uttering muttering hypocrisy
riles a river full of fury
lashing upon the tormented soul
invention of hell's apothecary

find the essence of alabaster and stone
enter this world of reality begone.