Mausoleum
And I watch my soul wash from the skies
What if Emerson dreamt he could fly
What if . . . no, wait, nevermind.
Divided by dancing Maples and Pine
Crushed by the weight of industry and time
And buried in a concrete sewer.
Where no doubt countless thought to say
Everything there is worthless anyway.
A volcano in the rain
I do not ask forgiveness
For where my indignities lie
For the world will watch me burn
With their flashing firefly grins
As I watch my soul wash from the skies
Everything dies in the end.
