Pitch Black Sun

nausea - our minds are empty. bleeding hands - our stigmata. cold postapocalyptic seasons. the autumn of our life has come. the everlasting rain washes our hope away. it cleans our thoughts. the final term: silence. generations are lost. desolated ways - dust. our last hope is gone but one day we will start again. a dying sun. a dying world. shattered in one million pieces.