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

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

"Forgive us, please, for we're long fallen",
Shivering carcass shuns the light,
Ancient bodies' fallen heaven, a dark star in a fallen 
"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.