---

All my colors have faded away.

I'm the first dead tree on an early autumn day.

There's no fresh water in the lake of meaning.

There's dissidence between truth and outward seeming.

I struggle to find reason for persistence,

My mind sorely preoccupied with somber reminiscence.

I'm afraid of the day that I end my search;

I'm afraid of the day I may reverse my birth.

Beneath the grand welkin above,

among the determined crashing waves,

watched by that pale joyless eye alone,

I sit upon a cold and weary stone.

From the night,

I watch a figure approach,

a hazy silhouette.

Is it your ghost?

I'm drifting, drowning

in the rising tide,

Lend me your hand -

please be my guide.

My consciousness dissolves

in the wavering mist.

My place is here no longer,

this lost soul ceased to exist.



Unearthly phantom -

leave this realm.

Submit to the ethereal void

and escape from frightful hell.

Unearthly phantom -

Your place is not here.

Embrace the dreary fog

that quickly draws near.

A wandering albatross

no longer takes flight.

A warm and bright day

turns into night.

Is this how things were meant to be?

Is this how things were meant to be?

Is this how things were meant to be?

Is this how things were meant to be?

A grey feather

downward spiraling.

Drifting away.

A fragment of a life.

Is this how things were meant to be?

Is this how things were meant to be?

Is this how things were meant to be?

Is this how things were meant to be?