Mists

Evoke the fate that's undeniable
A mantra for the end to come
Release the contained remorse
For the lost, derelict ones
The elements of nothingness
The colours that are void
Will rise and grow, beneath our beliefs
Of a golden, sacred throne

This is the world
Of squalor's creation
Our lives will follow through
Into a mourning damnation

At the altars of sorrow
Where we worship our loss
Our knees will take root in the soil
Our bodies feeding the moss
Writing inconsequent formulas
With upside down numbers
These stillborn ideas will fade
Dissent into the obscure, into mists of closure