Scrape the flesh off my decaying, putrid body,

as the feasting vultures rest on my fraying bones.

We're buried underneath the withering Earth,

while we hang to thorny crimson-stemmed roses.

For these rusting chains' rattles hold more clamor,

than the deafening silence echoing in these walls.

Rather be crushed in the mercy of the raging river,

than to gasp for air in the stagnant, bitter lake.