Turn my bones into sand, erode me in vain
Wash my grains in your ocean and rain.
Cerebral lobotomy, tie me to chains
Wrapped in the arms of indifferent pain.
On four in the spring, born on predestined days;
On two in the summer in half-noble parades.
On weakened sinews, we fall with the interned,
Until you break our bastions in cold-fire winters.
Rust of the tongue, waste of the brain
Sysiphus lives in us awake.
Boulders and thorns, we become from earth
In sands our bones now await.
Boulders and thorns, we beacon from earth
Into plains of pure nothingness.