Actus Tragicus

As I watch over a corpse, dining upon the dirt With the aroma of wretched flowers in the air In a quietude dismissed among the whole of the earth A soul, corrupted, glistens in the night, unacquainted and without care As I drink in the shadows from the river of silence In the sight of foul dread, swollen and dreary Ingratitude of the heart basking in the shade of death A life of dross in praise of slop, unknown, tired, and without spirit We are the dead We are the dead As I gaze into the abyss of reflection My blind sight stares back at me Made from the creator, god almighty Culled from birth in forlorn tragedy We are the dead We are the dead