Hanging down from the ceiling ... the old pendulum now rests,
Time stands still ... - like iron - ... in the house of the dead.
Our fragile souls lie weeping, sealed in sleep and b____ of lead,
All flowers here are dust, but we can still recall their scent.

In filth, decay and disrelish the leg-less man lay kneeling,
Weeping petrified, out of his mind ... - half buried, yet still breathing.
His lips are soft like powder and so cold ... colder than snow;
Mingled with the dust he fell, all paralysed by flesh and bone.

"Forgive us, please, for we're long fallen",
Shivering carcass shuns the light,
Ancient bodies' fallen heaven, a dark star in a fallen sky.
"Flow my tears !" , the angel said,
He forced a smile than bowed his head,
How much he wished that he could die ... -
Tore his old wings off with a sigh.

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