The icy steal bites deep as the blood rushes to ground.
Life flows, ebbs away - barely lingers at the close of day.
Sheering pain slowly abates, leaving emptiness in its place.

This is physical death - and it means nothing;
One can survive this fate, oh yes, we can live on . . .
But the death of the spirit, of the soul, is final.

Oh precious soul, so important, so intangible -
As the body lives and dies, we cling to you -
Cling to an ever dying hope with failing strength.

The body still lives, at least pretends to,
Once the spirit fades into illusion,
And nothing is left - save a hollow, empty, living tomb.

Empty eyes stare out, words fall on deaf ears.
Nothing is felt, there are no thoughts, no emotions left.
There is simply nothing.

Everyone is an island unto themselves; alone, desolate,
Surrounded by a sea of numbing pain,
Standing alone and forgotten by the world.

The blood pools on the ground, the spirit lies forgotten,
Life has give up all hope,
And in its place lies death.