Oh hath thine twisted mold through twilights' edge perceived?
Descendence merely be the stone from which thou build,
Carried on ashen wings of deciet; thine souls inclined retreat.

Glory has it, so doth life, the rot in which thou seethe,
Truth lies there on the periphery, resplendent, beckoning those whom seek;
Not with illumination of mind but lust of heart, awakened through teeth.

A vanguard of pain holds thine essence there,
Nurturing that which is weak,
So embrace brother, as embraced thou be and life eternal shall greet.