The Shape of Deaths to Come

An endless funeral procession marches on Numbed and grey as they delay their slow decay into the ground Nameless tombs amid the gloom, await like shadowed, grim cocoons They are the dead and this dirge is their swansong Those of the unlife infest the carcass of the world Bloodless eyes look to the sky as their flag is unfurled Marionettes dance out their days pulled by razor-wire strings Inching nearer to their graves with every requiem they sing Dust to destiny they inherit a dying world undone An oblong box to mold them, in the shape of deaths to come Upon battered, shredded heartstrings, their threnody strummed Lives without meaning form the shape of deaths to come Dead words fall on dead ears to fill dead time As into their gilded coffins, they eagerly climb To die out their last days, in a wasteful, putrid haze And so en masse, at last they deteriorate into decline Those of the unlife ingest the carcass of the world Slobbering lips are licked as their banner is unfurled Puppeteers slash a danse macabre with their razor-wire strings Dragging us deeper into the grave with every requiem - we sing Dust to destiny they inherit a dying world undone An oblong box to mold them, in the shape of deaths to come Upon battered, shredded heartstrings, their threnody strummed Lives without meaning form the shape of deaths to come Those of the unlife disgorge the carcass of the world Onto platters of splatter as our napkins are unfurled Led to feast on our undoing as a marionette upon its strings As we succumb to derangement this requiem we sing