In sterile walls and yellow halls, and washed waves in tides of fabric
I saw a spectre, motionless; a figure gaunt and tragic.
Mortality’s face, with suffocating gaze aghast and gasping futilely
Sang a dirge of darkest anima; and of one whose heart did mutiny. 

In sterile walls, with blinding dark, congested with the diligent
the phantasmal form of harvest stood, weapon in hand, militant; 
and sucked away those final breaths and left us there with nothing left; 
my splintered crystal soul it wept. A mind withdrawn, a heart bereft. 

In sterile walls, the echoes beat. Transcendent tears did tempest. 
A spirit turned quintessence of spleen by that most foul of temptress. 
A lively ship, that sailed rough seas; and plundered through the waters
left a rendered, ripped up wreck; Weep O! Sons and daughters.

In sterile walls, in imposter sun; corporeally bathed in rays
I heard a silence deafening, the mournful non-song plays. 
The hills and mounts asunder crumble; a victim of the time. 
Until there sat my mother Earth, naught but just a line. 

Those sterile walls will curse my soul, as there I saw your mask.
Your withdrawn elfin deathly throes, as my hand you clasped.
It flayed my being sorely to see you in such condition,
But I would still lay lips upon your grim, ethereal apparition.