Open to these vultures
That prowl the vacant skies
Are dreams of parted distance
Fading from skattered lies.

They weave through the marshes
Avoiding that final ride
Pushing towards that instance
Where demons begin to cry

That point of prevailed reason
That tumbles down the tide
Holding its silent position
With a speechless reply

Distraught are my senses
My eyes commence to shy
Where is my tattered cushion
That wraps my mental hide?

Collapsing to the pressure
That molds my tired life
I seek a carried fashion
Endowed with transparent spite.

Blended with liquid framework
These notions of clandestine strife
Cast within the treason
Of all mortal rites
 
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