Wade the shore of Phlegethon, soul cold beyond fear
Starved gaunt of self-knowledge by dream’s malnutrition
Reality’s freedom exchanged for hunger’s fantasy

Narcissus detects no regret reflected in empty eyes
A will so enfeebled that it cannot pierce its heart
He’ll depart this life alone without friend or foe

Depleted storehouses stand as echos of Esau’s folly
The land falls into ruin with the gardener’s death
His dry bones feed no soil but poison the stream

A vital capital pumped through his empty carcass
Drawn by harlot organs absent of soul’s restraint
The wealth of nature exhausted by the logic of profit

Had he escaped this blue pearl the stars would dim
All the sky would flicker and in time’s measure fade
An effort that heaven’s golden horde cannot satisfy

Woe prisoners of Dis with eyes that chew young sisters
Betrayers of a noble virtue the wretched inhospitable
Death has come already to the host that eats his guests

Death, for him, becomes life because he has no other
His will to live deserts him and his passions flow
An addiction worse than death bites as he consumes himself