A Pale Replica

We lived for pleasure and pain

A hundred years in our desiccated waste

And we put our dead

Into the earth

And turned them into trees

We carry on and linger in the sun

In love and then not so much

We labor long

Till our turn comes

To be beckoned to the dirt

And we go on

The bloody sun sits high amongst the trees

We cower in our filth and wait for thee

But you'll never come

And we'll die alone

And you'll laugh against the wind

All light dimming into none

The moon, a pale replica of the sun

Shines high amid

Our rotting night

Just laughing into the darkness

As we dance around our dead

It's laughing"