Without ceasing—Endlessly is how this grows
What is this strange thing that has become altered and exposed?
Tranquility surrounds it—Or something feindish I guess
Lost I assume between an illusion with distress
Pouring into an abyss where here leaves a trail
Adrenalized by an unknown purpose as it sails
The fragrance of this essence metallic in every form
Carried on by the breeze—Attracting all who’ve been torn
Thundering echoes began to fade no longer able to flow
Why has this beating become silent as suffering has made itself known?
— Ramsceair F.