Dong, dong, dong, dong
dong, dong, dong, dong
dong, dong, dong, dong!
The clock strikes twelve!
Silence throughout!
Only the undead
are awake to heed
their torment.
No testimonials,
no one to share their sorrows.
They move around,
like long lost souls,
in search of a fugitive
sense to wake up for tomorrow.
They wonder like Phantoms
into the haunted night,
to search for pleasure
in a taunted carnal
moment to ease and delight,
to taunt their drooling emptiness
that others have not fore filled.
They gasp for a fraction of
lust, that will only wet their
arsoned lips and quench
for a stillness of the perversion
that will give them
more torment and guilt.
No tears to shed,
they have none left.
For the heeded and the holy
have refused them death.
Like creatures of the night
they sell their virgin souls
to wonder in limbo,
till they pass unheard,
Forsaken by God and
by those whom they loved.
Whilst the well believers
will mock and curse,
they will hide forever more
from the light of day.
Those who were around them
will ignore who they were and are,
but they have paid their dues
like humble lambs,
as they wonder off
to their slaughter,
Led to the miserable end
by the blooded hands
of an ungrateful humanity,
to weep no more and float
into the heavens of
an ungrateful day of murder.
It is they who have won,
It is they who have waked
over your sleep.
No Eulogy from those who follow,
no regret from those who see.
Just a reminder to those
who gaze distracted:
WE ARE TODAY WHAT YOU SHALL TOMORROW BE.