The Waterless Streams - Mournful Congregation

A suffocation of the senses

A senseless suffocation

Water-filled streams have long since dried

Was there ever any other way?

Or was this bleakest destiny our plague?

A dread impending

Like suicide’s omniscient plea

Clasping and crawling

And shredding man’s being

We were that we were

Now we are that we are — nothing, unseeing

Where once stood a temple

Now stands cold stone

An inner sanctum of utter disgust

Repelling nature’s divine lust

Mortality is truth

And truth is a lie

The waterless streams overwhelm us

And now we must die

But our dying hour resists our plea

Why won’t you come, why must you flee?

Our last rites have been written, but not yet read