The moon is dying in the sky
that hangs above my wearied head
like unto some demonic spy
that hears each whispered word that's said,
and looks upon the world with eye
of shattered stone that sees the dead —
for all must die.
The final continent will hie
into the void of utter dread,
no matter which runes humans try
or else to gods sweet blood they shed.
No kinder fate can they descry
and no escape does lie ahead.
For all must die.
So let the final days go by
in vinous haze of sanguine red,
and let the feeble dreamers scry
a way to flee the doom ahead.
For death is drawing ever nigh,
as shrouds upon a corpse are spread,
for all must die:
the sun will shortly tumefy,
and burn the air that's overhead;
the oceans shall all be boiled dry;
and Earth as ashes shall be spread
among the stars of our old sky.
So heed these words that you have read:
for all must die.