The Pleistocene Epoch

Sleep in peace; dissolve while liest in your cold dust. Sleep amid your dark and dead, awake only to your common urn. All have fled to their "creators" throne... hopeful delights only to shine and burn. I despise your worthless world. Widle from a born-faithless belief. Your pathetic, imaginary world of pleasures, of false hopes drenched in a sea of lies. Do you hear those screams wholly inanimate! Now the spirit, not your dust, weans the heart of conscious or night. Will you find your hell in thee?