A Song to Ruin - Million Dead

A lone voice crying in the wilderness

Make the straight way for the coming of the—

A dry throat stutters on an empty vision

Of milk and honey and desolate quiet

A dry mouth falters on the opening blast of a song to ruin

What it left behind

A bare sole longing for the feel of concrete

And a lone voice crying in the wilderness

I have these dreams when I’m feeling sick

Of unfinished patterns that I can’t collate at all

Of an inward breath in a land bereft of uncrippled figures

Of an exhalation

Of the himavant

Of a pulse