A Dark January

I Boastfully, I regret no deeds, my sins are minor, lame, and weak. These children, though born dead, are strong, like a necromancer, I make them dance. Machineries, and wretched whores, all linger midst my core's hollow depths. So violent, I reproach their names, like demons, they return the favour. Silence now, no not a sound, save for my gears, grinding gold. A littany, these vicious lines, meant to be enjoyed in Death. So let me sleep, wake me not, the Grave is my truest home. Quietly, I shall decay, and I will become my art. II Burn this body, this sinful cage, bound to Earth's pleading ways. My soul is chained within, the keys just out of reach. Pleasantries, I crave emotion, intoxicated, I find them here. Cells may rot, the better then, so that the soul may roam. Spread the ashes near and far, somewhere left unseen. Not valiant, not brave, I am the Coward's King. So still my heart of violence, let the impurities flow. Diminish all your foolish laws, this soul belongs to me.