It doesn’t matter if you speak in imagery
That cold old stone you stand on
That smooth wet tongue you lick with
It doesn’t matter if the clock ticks towards noon
Or midnight, no morning, no evening star
Nothing shines here
No eyes, or souls or any bright thing
All babies born ugly in that shadowless space
Unrelated to time, all hollow and graceless
It doesn’t matter if you linger here
Because here cares nothing for you
The halls of sorrow are just as still
With you moving in them
As they are empty
(I don't know where this one came from, I'm sorry its so dark)
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