Abyssal - Swansong Of A Dying Race

Pyramids of steel
Piercing the heavens above
Great structures challenging the ground itself
Stone does our bidding
Not that of the Earth

Unlike those before us
The land is our subjugate
I speak the chorus in tongues
And drift between worlds

Buried deep in the noise
Heretical voices grip me
With emaciated fingers
I tear at my birthmask

Screams fill the corridors
As the cold air strikes my face
The first breath in a lifetime
Halls thick with smoke and sulphur
I choke as my eyes learn to see

The insipid multitudes
Chasing the horizons
They ignore my pleas
And march onward to nothing
As gold turns to dust and ash in trembling hands
And rotting silver fills our lungs
The house of cards tumbles

And seas of paper engulf vagrant and king alike
As the sky turns to maggots
And the land cracks and withers

I watch and crumble

Stale waters rise around the babbling hordes
False dreams do not keep them afloat
And beneath perpetual oceans they drown

The vindicating clamour
Of clerics and devotees
Soar high toward the welkin

But no words of comfort are returned
Are no quarter offered

As the vast web unravels ‘neath our feet
And we fall into the ages of darkness
A deafening hum of vapidity
Is the only soundtrack to be heard