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What Is A Forlorn Hope?  (With Old English And Dutch Influence And Germanic Origins)

Although they are dregs,

Let me tell you what it's like

to live forlornly—

Never ending nihilism. Could care less. Just along for the ride. Tired of just trying to survive. Would rather just die!!

Somehow this decision

Has infliced none on me

Somehow my thoughts

Have inflicted all on me

Did I do this right?

Is there even a right?

In this endless game?

In this game of life?

In this game of struggle?

In this game of human pain?

...

All of the decisions made

Made in the sunlight or the rain

Have inflicted nothing

Just nothing

In this pointless endless game

I am in pain

Skulls can no longer smile,

limited to that blank expression

until further degradation

Lost identity,

just a head,

no more life, no more breath

Underground,

it must be lonely,

but they wouldnt know that would they?

Out of sight, out of mind,

we draw a fine line between

what is animate and inanimate

But is there really a difference

between them and Us?

and 

are we really not just a skull wearing a mask?

lyrics:

A meaningless cycle called

Life

is a sexually transmitted disease

Death

is the food that sustains and feeds

A meaningless cycle...

A silhouette did witness a descending puff of fog
and questioned then to which good end did this thing belong?
Its height suggests it's heaven-sent: it peaks above our reach -
but as it's struck upon the Earth it thins and there, depletes.
What God of good would craft a cloud and send it to its death?
What Death could come to claim a cloud devoid of consciousness?
What Mind of one, aware of none, could fret about its place?
What Balanced man, if any can, might mourn its scattered grace?

A silhouette stood motionless and peered into the sky,
impatient for a Thinking rain or the rolling of an eye.
The sheer and all-encompassed blue was stubborn and replete,
and the silhouette did tip his head; solemn in defeat.
Drawn from doldrums to its cry, above a bird then flew;
drawing patterns in its sky; a rainbow in its plume.
The silhouette, undaunted by this vacancy of truth,
left his peerless mourning, and, pursued this new pursuit.

There he would sing,
celebrating,
lost in awe-inspired
knowing of
truth.
He thought not demise
awaited man
at end of their reign;
concluding their
days.
No hand to lay beating,
frightening, firm
in its owning
of all of us;
all we own.
None stood upon pillar
against sun,
eclipsing all else
smaller.
Nothing else far
from no where.
Quiet.
Calm.

Each night I am lulled asleep
by a sea of nameless chirping crickets.
All of whom, tells stories of their children.
“Bobby just learned how to ride a bike,
Jane and I couldn’t help but laugh
as we chased after him.”

“And after I gave the presentation
Mr. Hughes gave me a promotion.”

“My homework is boring but
my dishwasher is broken and
I had to go swimming across the lake
but I was laid off of work today.”

I am comforted at night
by indistinguishable chirps.