The hollowness of Nature's tears rings in the depths of bare branches. A pale, endless void draws the laments of creatures below. The footsteps of an escape lead down to the gulleys and bowels of the earth, trailing in dark soil. Somebody is scrubbing at the walls in vain, trying to get rid of the horros within. Everything is unraveling, eyes deep and empty, mouths wide open but nothing is coming out. As someone trys in vain to scrub the walls, the stone shrieks, unwilling to let go of its secrets. The blackest of hues drapes the land in shadows, and nothing is spared in its wake. A sleep of 10,000 years rests heavily on my eyelids, wanting to slip away from this cemetery.

We are all waiting, lost in slumber, for something; and as someone tries to scrub the walls in vain, we wait, lost in slumber, for the fog to lift, on this earth and in our spirits.