Necrothralls

In the world of grey ‎Where eyes shine with tinted ochre, ‎We trade breath for belonging, ‎Kneel before comfort of decay. ‎ ‎Rot carved deep in the hearts of men, ‎Puppets of the same destructive desire, ‎Pulling strings we pretend not to see, ‎Mistaking the burning for clarity. ‎ ‎Fire burns gold, ‎But they’ve forgotten it makes urn. ‎They praise the smoke as holy, ‎Blind to what they’ve burned. ‎ ‎They dance drunkenly to the opium of selective release, ‎Unknowing that rot is all they’ll see. ‎