I descend I descend I closed my eyes and still these vistas rend I descend I descend I closed my eyes and still these vistas rend The waning sun... it's light so thing Sickly, these pale shafts press At a gruesome fog, an entangling torpor Stripping the fenland air of pellucidity Writhing chains of spiritual desolation reach And beckons a shattered soul back into darkness As the soils part in welcome A riven aperture to embrace a sundered spirit Closing like a withered fist Around a frond of pale tissue Weak - so very weak Cold - frozen to the marrow Encased by the frost of loathing I have nothing left to give Even my flesh presents naught A cross-stitched tapestry of past failings Pallid vessel of spiritual exsanguination Home to the dread-stare of these listless eyes Each sordid limb a tendril of pain A beacon of suffering, a spite of torment Aflame with gangrenous agony This hemisphere of decrepitude demands extinction Extinguish me Yearning for ending I beg for the embrace of the fens A final resting place - marked only by a henge of dead trees The cathedral stands, omniscient A memorial to all those who walked within these shadows Unmoved by the toil of the lost Who sink without markings into the fathomless murk