shalt make no more excuses of my death.
Thou has disagreed and placed wickedness once
fed by the desires of the living now it’s dead.
On the altar of complacency there’s
death to all without any remorse, no
that is not existing, merely pretending more.
Feeds well the underlying problem if flowers are dying
on the table inlaid with marble, then
men will come to view the place where I dwell
beneath the light and effervescent skies.
“So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there’s no more dying then”