Sick steps dent the spine of the world
Tracing the path to the lighthouse
The fatalists wheel, set in it's spin
For absent friends and withered futures
Hollow, but for the thirst
Follow, into the dead star
Eyes heavy with a thousand mile stare
Set upon the summit cloaked in onyx smoke
Billowing out like winded breaths
Pale white light escapes in pulses
As if set to the heartbeat of the earth
Hollow, but for the thirst
Follow, into the dead star
Hand over fist, jagged rock stigmata
Starlight and the crashing of waves
Topside, a step into the brightness then enveloped
At one with the dead star

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