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When the morning mist rises

Each waking day

Until the last lick of the sun

The house of graves, my eternal shame, I must go on

The sun sees the work complete

In the morning

Of each waking day

My engraving, seals the work done

The monuments rise, they call my name

A trembling hand, a conscious slip

The fear that makes me trip

Reveals the scratches, the cracks, the holes and imperfection

A slip of the arm, a pull of the muscle,

The weakness of a frail human body, I must go on

Where once stood streams now lives rot

The funeral of dreams

Is this the night I perish?

Please let it be, tonight I go

I am the merchant of my own death

I am the Caveat Emptor of my own rest

It haunts me, it keeps me

In the silence, in the void

Let me lay down and sleep

Let me rest