Life was meant to be Wasted

Taste the stale night on your tired human tongue
Its darkness, ancient, as we were once young

When we were prowlers of twilight, noises in the night
Closing our eyes, tired of sight

Waiting for something, that never came
A strategy, an exit, an escape from their game

Some meaning in moon-drenched dark spaces
Staring at bored stars, with blank hearts and frowning faces

Wanderers, we, in the bland diversity of our cage
Our snarling fist declared the ancient religion of rage

Shining with arcane brilliance, with one foot in our grave
Drowning in time, with nothing to salvage or save

A tired dawn reflects bloody, spider-smeared smiles
Lost in an eternally recurring night, its miserable miles

For by the stale night, it was we, who were tasted
In this deeply profound life, meant only to be wasted.