Clutching a giant laance of brass Within a storm That rushes silently Through a hallway of mirrors Drafts and visions beform me Poisoned air burns into wounds: The missing entrails - Left behind When my waste Was creeping to life - Hurt and bleed Festering from wounds That time has torn That brass feasts upon ... in a rhytm, in a melody ... Destructive and discordant And finally mute - When the eyes awake Behind the senile web ... These trembling hands Won't save my ears From deafness These crippled thoughts Won't save my soul From death.