On this road, where I now belong
come to the land of death, willows weep
for those now gone, to think
all these years no person visits.

The rafters in this house
smell of old cedar wood, with
its wrinkle and stains.

But it is the shadows, on the wall
that keep me company, it’s as if
I don’t need others with me
as I wait for grim’s grasp, its stare
chills my skin and pores.

Outside is the trees, willows from
years gone by, that presents this old tomb
as the one true company that I need.
Come noble steep, embrace me,
When I hope to bleed quickly, with no suffering.

For ones time has come, to see the world,
fade away to timber ash.

The rafters in this house
smell of old cedar wood, with
its wrinkle and stains.

With only a smell,
That’s quite profane.