They said that the coffin was the Pandora’s Box of a modern era.
But if that is true, Then where
Is the hope That was promised?
I do not see it In the eyes
(Dead, dead eyes) Of my brothers.
I do not see it In my mother’s hair
Which they say Still grows
Even in death. And what about me?
The last of the living Watching plague spread
From fingertips To toes.
It is my burden to know How many days I have left.
I can see it written In the ink
Of my poisoned blood Which paints my veins
A steely black. I have seen the end of an age
And the second flood Sent to bury us
With a pitiless smile. But when the children
(Unaffected) Grow and forget
They may someday discover A mysterious coffin
Where I have both hidden And sealed myself away
In order to give them A little more time.
The only hope in this box Is that which I bear
In that I am lost To their innocent hands.
Yet, as I die, still I wonder on how many times we have been reset.
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