Little Child

The spirits crying deep within

Battered souls steeped in sin

Blessed child, where is they tomb?

Why aren’t you ready for your ultimate doom?

The morrow the sun and sky shall fall

Sparing none. Destroying all.

Know you not, this is your fate?

To face this lowly act of hate

Yet this is not for a certain day

When all shall die in this certain way

For each his own special morrow

The final word – then no tomorrow

This is the way – an illusion sweet

To hide the shadow of defeat

Time is the lie – the perfect trick

A non-existent candle-stick

Aimed to measure, used to judge

In truth the seconds never budge

All is none and none is all

Death is reality’s little fall

No more rules to guide you on

You’re freed of this hollow con

You’ll never sleep. You’ll never wake

There’ll be no end. You’ll get what you take

There is no peace. No perfect joy