Somnium Mortem

We stretch, in the dawn's eerie light 

To the morning birds chiming their sound, 

Inscribing names: on pale sheets of slate 

Moving sandstone onto softened mound 

Outside of a window, a Sermon's verse

Cries out as an engine rumbles, 

The creeping soil of whistling woods 

Hauled to hell by hearse. 

The room it quakes 

Now, it's lifting up, 

Parading halls 

Under hoisted banners 

Hitting rollers 

Revving up, 

To the preacher's final prayer. 

Lay me down inside 

Close the door behind 

Say a final word 

Take the wheel and drive 

One last ride, into the gates I died 

No one likes a Crier, 

When the hearse comes by 

Keep waving bye 

Throwing on your funeral flowers. 

Weep in silence 

Dry-your-eyes, 

No one likes a mourning liar 

At-the-palling of a-fallen-poet 

Outpouring on a Stygian Lyre. 

Lay · Me · Down, 

Where I can hear the earth, 

Rolling over in my grave 

Waking is the worst. 

From the tapping of the spade 

Raining dirt upon my grave. 

Make your speech and state your peace 

I shan't hear it either way. 

You will wish for heaven 

As I chose the ride to hell. 

I'd rather rest in a house I know, 

Than to serve in a fairytale.