The Descent
The tomb has been broken,
The stairwell leads down.
Who knows what will open
And where will we drown.
We carefully step,
On the decent to death.
Our sins crafting a web,
Where we will lose our breath.
Though when we come down,
We think of the godly.
We think of the frown,
That makes their faces oddly.
They look down upon us,
Their creations' descent.
They don't make a fuss,
They still stay content.
Though no matter what,
We continue our journey.
Stirring in our own pot of lies.
