Within the realm of acid dreams
A cruel proximity remains
The blackened wheel of balance leans
Towards wars of maelstrom's pains
Profane the issue always was
Though faded in its message
Annihilation gives thus pause
With cynical hopes, the vestige
The rose, it marries the thorn once more
To amplify debate
To touch the truth means certain death
Though hands must venerate
Give up the fight, concede the case
The purpose loses much
If only when you look to chase
Away Death's gentle touch
You find that purpose has been lost
Your will no longer seems
To matter, for your soul's the cost
In Death's relentless dreams.
