Madder Mortem

Oh, little figures that toil under weather and sun
Your backbreaking labor is earning you nothing but hopes undone
Here nothing is sacred; what pride there is left will not hold
The price of your failure is shown in the trinkets that weigh you down
I'm swimming in obscenity that gives me not one second's peace
Mirror all my faults and flaws, crack jokes at all that I'm made of
Weeping in our restless sleep, we're dreaming of lucidity and peace
All good withers and dies
We seized it all, only to let go
The empty winners drowning in the flow
We are all forlorn
Riddle is solving itself as I kneel and devour
The strength of the terror will never relieve you of crawling on