Ophedian’s Osculation

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It’s coming for us (x3)

All

Tick tock death’s metronome,

Sickle re-directing infinite cyclical unknown,

What’s the point of this waiting room, are we a cosmic joke?

Some of us choose blindness, others from fevered dreams now awoke,

Wars, genocide, famine, orphans, murder in cold blood, murder in a fire of fury,

Scarcity, insects, rapist’s secrets buried,

It’s coming for us (x3)

All

So I will cultivate wonder until I’m called home,

Faithful pilgrim, defiled hands and joy filling the marrow of my bones,

If there is a shadow there too must always be light,

“Surely you will not perish,” open up and take a bite.