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