Whether to rest under those tired eyes,
Their endless dream in life of lies.
Yet here we play the games of fate,
Destine to fall on the grand illustrate.
Mark by the lantern, the light rage on,
Countless stones that stack into a song.
The souls would act, they know their best,
Dance for the life that don’t need rest.
In mist and shadow, their hearts gone glow,
Deaden eyes the stare of void they show.
The form would shape, pale to fade,
Deeds of the fallen that lost their trade.
Young and old and strong and weak,
Forge by war and peace they meet.
They rise, disturbed, their lantern spark,
For none would stop their endless march.
Piss and pots that lie in grave,
The dead stay dead for life they crave.
And if you see their former past,
Would you join their ghostly cast?