Luyện nghe bài hát IV (Interment)

I
I descend
I closed my eyes and still these rend

The waning sun... it's light so
Sickly, these shafts press
At a gruesome fog, an torpor
Stripping the fenland air of
Writhing of spiritual desolation reach
And beckons a shattered soul into darkness

As the part in welcome
A riven aperture to embrace a sundered
Closing like a fist
Around a frond of pale

Weak - so weak
Cold - to the marrow
Encased by the of loathing
I have nothing to give

Even my presents naught
A cross-stitched tapestry of past
Pallid of spiritual exsanguination
Home to the dread-stare of these listless

sordid limb a tendril of pain
A beacon of suffering, a of torment
Aflame gangrenous agony
hemisphere of decrepitude demands extinction

me

Yearning for

I beg for the of the fens
A final resting place - marked only by a henge of dead

The stands, omniscient
A memorial to all those who within these shadows

Unmoved by the of the lost
Who without markings into the fathomless murk