Chapter V: The Premature Burial

Markus Stock
Vague are the boundaries between life and death
Does your life end the moment you take your last breath?
Certain is the humid soil, the ultimateness of the urn
Does there end your mortality, who's the one to discern?

The ultimate woe, the true wretchedness
Oh the agony of a premature burial
Lips of marble, gazeless eyed, cold as the grave
A body that died

Entombed into the darkness
And supposed to rot but
There is still warmth in this flesh
And the flow of this blood

Shrieks of terror, sepulchral aghast
Ensnared in the sarcophagus
A never-ending nightmare to last

Dark and cold, shrouds of mould
Deathless dread, envy the dead
Lightless tomb, inverted womb
Fade to grey with tart bouquet