For in the days of yore
Redemption had come this way
But the battle within drains him
And his words live as stones
He had walked this way
He knows the marks, old footsteps
The caked path, rotting twigs
This path ends soon the winds whisper
But the bogs grow thicker with each step
These are the days of blue
Sunken eyes, unshaven sideburns
Of drifting in the wilderness
Of hollow and guttural laughter, then nauseating bitterness
These are the days of shrouded pain
His soul burns as the life in him shrinks
Life is lived in gusts and busts
Pleasure lives as phantoms, as she
In a slumber
He ne’er wakes from.
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