Why is it all so hopeless?
Why do we fight to die?
We live our lives in clockwork symphonies,
Harping on the pains of our forefathers,
Singing to the song of dreams.
Time and time again we come back to this place
To shed our blood and break the world.
We come home at the end of the day, and for what?
To sleep, perchance to dream.
What are our dreams?
We coddle our minds and nurse our souls to believe
There is some hidden meaning to the endless machinations,
But life has killed that meaning.
Now there is just truth, and nothing but a salted truth.
It all makes sense when everything lacks meaning.
Why do we go on?
What purpose is there that drives us forward so?
Beneath the surface lies a new world,
A world of nightmares and of decay.
It lives within me, within my heart and soul.
It stirs when the sun sets and festers in my sleep.
When will I have hope again?
When can we live our lives without false dreams?
Or is death the only answer?
And in death the dreaming ends?

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ultio, in the year 430 AD.