The Waning Hour

Trapped in lycanthropic manic cycles, Flooding Water, Burning bibles. Bones reshape, skins unknown My flesh betrays what I know. Impaled on thoughts of dawn and dusk, I watch the clock with a mind I can’t trust, Each click with growing disdain, My eyes start to strain. Bound to Fear and Hunger my endless campaign The moonlights carved it’s path in bone, Forever imprisoned to bleed and groan. Realizing my life was never my own, The soil will now reclaim its loan.