the moon is filled with blood tonight.
it drifts up through the mist:
past creatures starving in the blight
who barely still exist.
there’s agony and entropy,
but neither hut nor shack —
there’s only just to travel on
along this long, lost track.
the dwimmer-vale is silent now,
just voices in my head:
there’s no room for the living here
among the floating dead
the moon is filled with rage tonight
for those who won’t turn back —
but all life is a road to death
for those who have