Among the living and the dead they go, holding their breath as they’re holding hands. Through the mist they go.
Among the past and the soon-going-to-be they go, feral eyes burning like fading skies and angry tongues and mouths. Through the streets, they go.
Among the beauty of the damned and the rotten splendor of newborn empires they go, and we go with them - words written in our minds, prophets of the underworld.
