The Coffin Has No Trunk 11. 10. 19

Below the dusk October skies
The ice winds numb and paralyse
They bow the shrunken leafless trees
And bring just Darkness and Decease

In this pernicious gelid night
The being's yarns are frail and slight
Anon the winter storms shall wreak
Their wrath and only death will speak

In vain I squander my last years
Degenerating by degrees
There's no more fire in my creed
And no enlightenment to proceed

My land is ravaged by the thugs,
Baned with the maladies and drugs
The brainless skulls, the monstrous bums...
And somewhere beat the feral drums

Along the tombs I cast a glance
Here rest our progress and advance
'Cause every ruling scum or crud
Thinks: "After me, the worldwide flood"

Beneath the sanctimony's copes
Swell the inquisitors and popes;
The penance for the civil slack
Is the enthronement of the black

And they, the black raised from the graves
Attempt to march with swords and staves
But all their blood of faith is wrung,
Inapt to browbeat anyone

And I, this autumn atra nox
Mull o'er the vexing paradox:
They're vile and dumb but none the less
Get rich - thanks to our silliness

Though my cool-headedness and phlegm
I have some simple facts for them:
Between the greasy jerks and us
Death won't divide what grade or class

No matter if you fade or thrive,
You cannot leave the life alive
Your ship of fools yet will be sunk
And yes - the coffin has no trunk