The Contrast of Decay.

Breaking the bones for the marrow,
and breaking the marrow for the maggots.

Pale and juvenille,
lucky lady lies down in her bed,
i saw her crying today,
snake eyes finally blinded her.

Ripped and skinned and torn asunder,
frozen by the sunlight and burnt by the moon,
take their ashes and scatter them in glass vasses.

So that the flowers may rise.
Bless the world with our own demise,
a present for the crooked cross,
take down the bottles and replace them with those that see no longer.