The doubts return, what was meant,
What is, what remains to be seen,
Cold and shadowy interim defying
All possible thoughts of happiness,
Intruders on the tense skin of time,
Devil diamonds returned to plague.
Perhaps no solace was ever meant?
Only the pretence or a brief taste
To whet the appetite, to draw saliva
Up and out from atrophied glands,
Fill an acidic already mouth with bile,
Already tasting for the grave’s embrace.