They are so many. Stand on a high place
and watch them shamble. Gray as winter cloud
the sea of faces, and they moan so loud
it's like a scream. And every single face
is marked with all the signs of quick decay
and yet they still stand up, and wander round.
It's like a flood. Those standing on high ground
watch each last bit of dry land fall away
and know there's no way they can stop the tide.
Sooner or later tides will always turn
but meanwhile there's no wood for you to burn,
no food to eat, and no friend at your side.
They are all dead. Don't tell yourself the lie
that you'll survive. Just walk down there and die.