Testo Nostalgic Infection

There is no time like the past
The place I live, I live it alone
Unburying the memories that loosely dress my wounds

Speaking is irrelevant, dreams are abstract
What little semblance of thought is fact?

Each step I take; a painful recollection Every sound made; nostalgic infection

The fire is waning
Embers once raging
Flames, now flickers
My resolve now withers

But what of man and of war?
Machines that destroyed all I abhor
How do I accept those I've denied
When every ounce of my humanity's died

I dream of a shore washing the blood away
Carry me to my place of burial
I cannot bear it any longer
No turning point, no movement
Stagnation, my eternal bride

Trudge through a sea of dead cells
Long ago this was more