The blackened hood of death, it chokes.
Crimson remose pours free.
The noose gets tighter ever second,
Drains all the strength from me.

The shadow of Dis swoops over my head,
The demons consume all my soul.
The clouds of regret, they cover my eyes.
Obstructing my one true goal.

I'm ill with this sickness, disgust with myself.
I'm slowly now wasting away.
The sun, now blackened, it rises forth,
Tomorrow's another black day.

What I wouldn't give to take back my past,
To clean my slate, start anew, live again.
But now I must live in the grave that I've dug,
Averting the gazes of men.

-Threal

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Bellum, in the year 483 AD.