When logic & proportion have lost
All meaning, the layers of armour
Gone and leaving behind little
For the hollow shell was formed
Long ago when too many tough pieces
Were added, the soul within forgotten,
A brittle covering left behind
And later too easily broken.
What worlds of nighted depths dream
Behind minds sore with sickness?
Armour encapsulated bodies dry
Hulk inside their shroud coverings
And whisper redundant hopes
For worlds where others held scope
Of surcease more than transient,
Yet tis a dark boon never relevant.