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.