The brisk cold air
ran through my dead skin.
It breathes words of the living
but I'm still a corpse anyway.
Prophets of life,
speak words through nature.
But I'm far below them,
buried deep in dirt.
They make too much noise; the living,
hence my silence.
But I'm never silent,
my cry simply unheard.
Save me, save me.
Someone hear my cry.
Revive me back from the dead,
carry me away from Tartarus.
