onto the street proceed

the hearse and limousine

laying in the casket, the

corpse of inner joy

questioning time

all hope for loving died



greying haze of the

autumn skies

stone cold hearts retract

amongst the knives

within a dream that

commits itself to grief

resurrected by a black

wreath...



why?

where?

how?



heaving sob-seizures

roused by the view

of true love embalmed in a

box

grovel, beg, plead for a

sign, but never mind

'cause bliss is now a word

left far behind



bliss buried in a sepulchre

customized

by the hand of rage

the birth of a violent age

reminds all that

abstinence makes the

heart grow floundering



perish the memory

scream in agony

love is late, love is late



a sorrow-raising surge

lies in the cadence of the

dirge