Everything's dying

Yet they breathe.

It's the purgatory

Where the blinding darkness

Suffocates you to death.

Are they throbbing of life?

Or are they dead?

Is that the melody of violin?

Or the cry of the sirens?

The chaos is deafening

Like the silence of the grave.

Are they too tired of life?

Yet so reluctant to die?

Do you hear the mourn?

The melancholic song?

No, you don't,

It's a requiem of my own.