Seeping trails of loneliness behind
Oozing from the blade he held in hand
But to the future coming he was blind
Mountains stretched upon horizons ledge
Deepening purples settled in their rifts
He saw them as his boundaries final edge
And with this thought his metal knife did shift
From hand to hand he carried sharpened death
Until the sun spilled crimson cross' the sky
He stopped to take those last sweet final breaths
To contradict he found no reason why
He visualized the way his blood would flow
Before his corpse was ravaged by the crow