a rotting corpse is what you smell, 
A deformed being plagued with hell, 
never does he know a peaceful night sleep.
with mental anguish wounding him deep. 
Across the skin leaving a sting, like salt to a wound. 

The corpse is still here, yet he does not know why. 
Not quite dead nor truely alive. 
A hater of the sun, A lover of the rain
The only thing that seems to dull the corpse's pain. 
Lay the corpse to rest and let it rest in peace
To fade away