The ravens are circling again above the headless, ragged scarecrow, their feast is served under the scarlet sky. A hangman shed the royal blood no one is in safe, aeons eat the rusted crown and the memories of its owner. An old skull shows the ravages of time, the smile on its face is vanished in the dark. The great healer gulps everything down like the hills swallow the setting sun. Memories turn to ashes, caskets instead of cradles when the hourglass became empty the ropes tighten around our necks. The mortal coil falls to oblivion, embers are fucking cease to glow and the wind devours everything. Seconds, minutes, and fucking hours the deepest wounds grow to scars, years, centuries and aeons the sand of time erases epitaphs. The deepest wounds grow to scars, the sand of time erases epitaphs.
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