Sleep in eternal slumber,

covered by the barren earth.

Morning was just an enigma,

Night a beautiful echo.

No pain, nor comfort

does time afford circumstance.

Too many have passed,

in an indeterminable journey.

Dust and decay was the Master...

all along.

To contemplate a meaning

was folly from the start.

Then, sleep in endless sleep.

As we blend into the darkness.

Heartache was just a word.

And dreams were always dreams...and nothing more.

Dreams were dreams, and no more.