Jerit Barton


The loneliness of the dead,
Begets that of the living,
Lack of comfort in arms,
Cold and death warms me further.

Those I have grown accustomed to
Betray me for the medusa with a sirens song,
Hell I feel trapped,
How to escape with my soul intact?

Bury me with the provisions of eternity.
I will live death in deeds of loyalty and prayer against the deceiver,
Their names will not be written at my site,

For wasted life they have.