a funeral pyre was set for me,

amidst the dark and briny sea

against the stormy background’s woes,
and listless wind’s enchanting throes-

I lost the bet and lost a life,
(sacrificed the stitch for strife)

it’s not if any death will do,
you must be thorough, through and through!

called a name amid the crowd,

but lost the spindle to the shroud,

smashed their smiles and ran along
the battlements adorned in song-

in every truth there lies a lie,
and hopelessness that ambles by,

when twinkles fail to glisten soft,

the flesh that bleeds in time forgot,

if ever there was love in sin,
(and ravagement to wander in)

it’s in the telling, not the tome,
if death should choose to come back home-