The Frantic Pace Of Dying

They are living candles
 and we will watch them burn

 Their frantic pace of dying
 is so hard to maintain

 Into the arms of Solace you go:
 (we sing the screams of men;)
 "make a Joyful Noise unto the Lord,"
 scream and scream again

 Age or Beauty: which to burn?
 There's always room for one less;
 Suffering is the Master from Whom we learn:
 keep this Secret and be blessed

 In these, the last days before Revelation,
 as Existence is fultile and Failure is not an option,
 they bleed for Love of the Body,
 and they die for the Body;
 now, only silence remains...
 a sylvan silence

 The sick,
 the dying,
 the dead,
 the rotting,
 the damned...
 ...the burning

 Their lives, as such, are but a trifle;
 their sacrifices, much like compost,
 will help to nourish the Seeds of the Future;
 this august Body cannot cease to grow

 "Arbeit macht frei"
 until you die;
 welcome to permanent downtime

 They are living candles
 and we will watch them burn out

 All these small Deaths
 of mind, of body...
 Rest is for the weak