Like a bliss of malaise
this tainted air compels me
The unwrit hours pass again unheeded

Stillness, like a cold vengeance, no life shifts...
Grey ghost painted to the halls of ennui

Falling dust weaves bleary torpid scenes
through a bleak day
In this drifting miasma sore eyes staring
through the weary schemes of death

Strain of a stranger will
bound me from within
Grip devoid of strength
and the weight of dying stone

Forlorn, torn wisps of malady seethe...
and entrance me
This picturesque scene fragile
or so it seems, still unchanging
beyond endurance.

Vagrant shadows tire of motion
and abandon the empty halls
harvesting the decay of the centuries past

Arcana of darkest kind
this bleary sentiment unceasing
like lying awake without will
dreaming without dawn

And the strength slowly drains, lay still and cease
in the strenuous grasp of sloth

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