I speak to and of the dead… They remind the devil of my debts.
I speak to myself, a dead man in a life, a lie whispers you once had life.
I speak of myself in a manner of disgust, once discussed, now forgotten.
The dead speak to and of me, through me… Their unfulfilled desires pressed upon me.
A living land, the beaten are damned, Gods plans?
Folly to those who seek the comfort of the shadows, my man.
My man, my woman, my seed… Awake from your dream, for all you know is sleep.
by Ryan Koen