Like fingers they claw at the sky
Pylons of a pompous foray
Sentinels to look down upon with vacant eyes
We kindle our willing to strive
To remain separate
A farewell to the spoils of fate
In shallow graves
We dig a hole deep in the earth
Dig it deep to hide all our guilt
A trio of sarcophagi - triadic deceit
The quagmire could swallow whole
The black well of our malady
We grasp tight of offered hands
To stem the flow of defeat
We pick the bones cleans of their worth
Whisper (sweet) nothings into empty warrens
Mock prayers to revel within
Who has seen better days?
Zealots practice silent vigils
We turn out attention upon their axis
Imitations inured with former glory
We ignore their remorse
