As the words are being lettered,
Things already dissolving and fading,
For the cracking hourglass of my life,
Nearing its end, with so little grains left.
Yet there are still unfinished matters,
As akin as unfurnished furniture,
Of the once bustling life of mine,
That shall now forever long gone,
No more attuned with me,
Neither shall suit that little necropolis of mine.
Still there’s hope for those still breathing,
To continue the wills from the dead,
And to bear the visions of the living,
Promising there’ll be eternal rest for me,
From all the saddles that was left behind.
The last of my conscious is fading away,
My visions blurred, my breathing slowed,
Revealing me it’s my time to go away,
Stamping my miseries without delay,
Forgetting all, memorized by none,
Whilst your debt shall then be paid,
May them fairer than me all ways.
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