Absent minded and off base
you meander through time and space
Your footing unsure,
your mind a whirl of confusion.

An anachronism without direction,
a wickless candle in a catacomb of shadow.

On and on and in and out
till nothing seems right
and all is doubt
and lies are all that sill remain
the distortion and debauchery
part of the game.

An anachronism without direction,
a wickless candle in a catacomb of shadows.

Now all that remains
is your bare naked frame
and all else has faded
and passed away.
And you’re still as lost
as ever you were
and still you refuse
to be part of the grind
to accept all you see
as all that is there.

An anachronism without direction,
a wickless candle in a catacomb of shadows.

And now on your deathbed
you eyes fade away
and the once hearty spirit
begins to dissuade
from all you once held
and you accept what you see
as what truly is there
so your soul screams aloud
to the cold winter air
for the downfall of man
and for what could have been.
but nothing is altered and all remains true
you pass into nowhere and
become oblivion.

An anachronism without direction,
a wickless candle in a catacomb of shadows.