Rain grazing my skin and bone
Coldly taring what I had sown
In the ghost of my lonely land,
Which through its embers I stand
Now I wander its corpse, devoid
Of heavy groans or burdened moans
If anything invaded by foreign joys,
Silently aided by gleeful crows,
Light my step as it sullies the soil
Of resting souls and roughed turmoil
For unworthy as I am to live or die
I walk the void their stars left to cry