The side of my head flat against the ground.

Bitter cold air makes it hard to breathe.

Red gravel and purple skies.

A sickening stench of rotten flesh, my senses have come to know.

The Past tormenting, the Future terrifying -

From the corner of my eye, it makes its way.

Helplessly hopeless - I resort to prolonged self-denying.

Never-mind living, when in death there's harmony.

No tears, No fears, but a crier cries out '' Die Reject, Die!''

Such a sight it is indeed, if only now I could take some heed,

At my old lady's feet I should beg and I should plead.

Or do I fancy a sledge-hammer bashing in my scull twenty-five thousand times until my dreams go void and null?

This is I taking heed, Oh Dear Lord.

Oh Dear Lord.