The Metal Box

Smell the death and decay
In the grave where you lie,
The million eyes in the dark
That live to watch you die.

In the metal box you sit
Into the silence you call,
As you start to break away
And watch your pieces fall. . .

Your crumbling face cries
Into these dark folds,
As cold metal reflects
The filth that it holds.

Clawed hands will grasp
What rots with the flies,
What never breathes
And yet never dies. . .

And the metal box is lost,
Into the abyss it rolls.
With all the faceless bodies -
Who once sold their souls. . ..