I can still write HOO~!

The Hands Will Be the First to Rot

Under the running water
that washes away the dirt, the skin, the bones
They will decay

Under the eternal sun
that burns, that feeds
that heralds the seasons
They will wither

Under the massive labor
that ages the body,
the mind, the spirit
They will tire

They will become rough
They will become dry
They will become veined
They will become thin
They will become bent
They will become weak
They will become old
They will die, and become forgotten
They will be the first to rot.

A World of No Dreams

So many scents from so many times
But only one permeates my atmosphere
They take me to a world of no dreams
A world of bittersweet contentment
Of dull grandeur
There is no need for need
There is only eternal wakenness
And the scent is my life-force
A moment of slumber
In a world of no dreams