Bleak Dawn: Mankind appears as a machine;

His words, gestures, actions, formulaic;

Their spontaneous manifestations,

The sole light that draws my ennui forward.

His pathological tendencies, wrought

With's greedy delusions, blinding him by

The trap that, for’s vengeance, he crudely shaped --

The tall-tale of's birth via's case-less death.

Still reagents alter his behavior,

Fostering the growth of what he mirrors;

For he will not recognize that, in truth,

What he’s tormented by is his shadow.

Millenniums could pass, yet in pain, he’d remain;

Materially transformed by Time’s hand,

But psychically bound to the hell he, for himself, made.