I sing, softly, a sad and empty melody
from here below, ‘neath tempered earth,
as I lie in this grave which I now furnish,
and have kept in stasis for all its worth.
I cry to the heavens, tho’ it cannot hear,
as if my ears would swallow the sound,
and in my reach to none but human stain,
I find odd comfort, six feet underground.
Let me wake not, that I dare not wonder
how such madness began, and enflamed,
nor ponder my position, while still alive,
that I am yet here, unknown and unnamed.